#near is a pillow prince

[astrxq]

Amidst the Battle

jacaerys velaryon x healer!reader

words: 8k

notes: non-canon events! not following the show's timeline. warnings: kissing, talk of war and wounds (i think that's all) feedback is appreciated!!

The acrid smell of smoke and blood hung heavy in the air as you made your way through the aftermath of the battle. Your eyes scanned the field, searching for survivors amidst the carnage. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the war-torn landscape, when you spotted him.

A young man, barely clinging to life, his curled hair matted with blood and dirt. You approached cautiously, your heart racing as you realized who he was – Jacaerys Velaryon, the dragon rider, prince, and heir to the throne of Rhaenyra.

You knelt beside him, your trained hands quickly assessing his injuries. Multiple lacerations, a deep gash across his abdomen, and what appeared to be a broken arm. His breathing was shallow, each inhale a struggle. Without immediate care, he wouldn’t survive the night.

“Hold on,” you whispered, though you were unsure if he could hear you. “I've got you.”

With a strength born of necessity, you managed to lift him onto your cart. Your cottage wasn't far, and you prayed to the gods, old and new, that he would make it there alive. As you guided your horse along the bumpy path, your mind raced. Treating a Velaryon, especially one as prominent as Jacaerys, could have been seen as an act of treason depending on who emerged victorious in this war. But as you glanced back at his pale face, you knew you couldn't live with yourself if you left him to die.

The journey felt endless, but finally, your modest cottage came into view. With great effort, you managed to bring Jacaerys inside and lay him on your bed. You worked tirelessly through the night, cleaning his wounds, stitching gashes, and setting his broken arm. Your stores of herbs were nearly depleted by the time you finished, but as dawn broke, his breathing had steadied, and some color had returned to his face.

Exhausted, you slumped into a chair by the bedside. You allowed yourself a moment of rest, watching the rise and fall of his chest. In sleep, the hardness of battle faded from his features, revealing a young man not much older than yourself. With a wet cloth, you gently cleaned his face, wiping away the stains of dry blood and dirt from the battle.

As you continued to clean his face, you couldn't help but study his features more closely. His curled hair, now free from the grime of battle, fell in soft waves across your pillow. You noticed a small scar near his left eyebrow, wondering what tale it might tell. His strong jaw was softened in sleep, and you found yourself tracing the line of it with your eyes.

A sudden twitch of his hand startled you from your reverie. You held your breath, watching intently, but he didn't wake. Releasing a sigh, you realized how dangerous this situation truly was. Housing and healing the son of Rhaenyra Targaryen could have cost you your life if the wrong people found out.

Despite the dangers, you couldn't bring yourself to abandon Jacaerys to the impersonal care of a volunteer center. The prince's injuries were severe, and his condition delicate. Each day was a delicate dance of tending wounds, easing fevers, and ensuring he had enough nourishment to sustain his weakened body. The thought of him being at the mercy of soldiers or opportunistic enemies made your decision clear – his safety was worth the risk.

In the quiet moments between changing bandages and preparing meals, you wrestled with guilt and anxiety. Every noise outside your cottage, every unfamiliar visitor passing by, sent a jolt of fear through you. Would they discover him? Would someone recognize him?

You rarely left Jacaerys' side, tending to his wounds and watching for any signs of fever or infection. His condition remained precarious, teetering on the edge between life and death.

On the third day, as you were changing the dressing on his abdominal wound, Jacaerys stirred. His eyelids fluttered, and a low groan escaped his lips. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as his eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first, then sharpening as they landed on you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You could see the confusion in his eyes, followed quickly by a flash of fear and suspicion. His body tensed, and he tried to move away from you, only to grimace in pain at the sudden movement.

“Don't,” you said softly, holding up your hands to show you meant no harm. “You're badly injured. Any sudden movements could reopen your wounds.”

Jacaerys' eyes darted around the room, taking in his surroundings. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and weak. “Where am I? Who are you?”

His voice, while weak, sounded accusing, almost too sharp for it to match his tired expression. He could feel his throat dry and raw, each word an effort to push out. You reached for a cup of water nearby, offering it to him cautiously.

“Here,” you said, your voice gentle. “You need to drink.”

Jacaerys eyed the cup suspiciously, his gaze flickering between it and your face. You could see the internal struggle playing out in his eyes - the desperate thirst warring with his ingrained mistrust.

“It's just water,” you assured him, taking a small sip yourself to prove it. “You've been unconscious for days. Your body needs hydration to heal.”

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded slightly. You carefully supported his head, helping him take small sips. As the cool water touched his lips, his eyes closed briefly in relief. When he'd had enough, you set the cup aside and settled back into your chair. Jacaerys watched your every move, his body still tense despite the obvious pain it caused him.

“You didn't answer my questions,” he said, his voice a little clearer now. He ignored the grumbling of his stomach, having gotten used to being hungry because of the war. 

You took a deep breath, considering your words carefully. The Prince's wariness was palpable, and you couldn't blame him given the circumstances.

“You're in my cottage,” you explained softly. “I found you on the battlefield three days ago, gravely wounded. I brought you here to treat your injuries.”

Jacaerys' eyes narrowed, suspicion evident in every line of his face. “And you just happened to stumble upon me? Why would you risk treating an enemy soldier?”

You met his gaze steadily. “I don't see enemies on the battlefield, my Prince. Only people in need of help. It's my duty to heal, regardless of allegiances.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face at your use of his title, but it was quickly replaced by a guarded expression. “How do I know you're not holding me for ransom? Or waiting to turn me over to my enemies?”

You sighed, feeling a mixture of frustration and understanding. “If that were my intention, I wouldn't have spent the last three days fighting to keep you alive. Your wounds were severe, my Prince. You very nearly died.”

He seemed to consider this, his eyes roaming over the bandages covering his body. A grimace of pain crossed his face as he shifted slightly. “And what do you expect in return for your... kindness?” he asked, the last word tinged with sarcasm.

“Nothing,” you replied simply. “Your recovery is payment enough.”

Jacaerys scoffed, wincing at the movement. “No one does anything for nothing in this world.”

You stood, moving to a small table where you'd prepared a simple broth. “Believe what you will, my Prince.”

He stayed silent, his eyes scanning your features. As you turned back to Jacaerys with the bowl of broth, you noticed his eyes following your every move. The suspicion in his gaze hadn't lessened, but there was a hint of something else now - perhaps curiosity, or simply the weariness of a man too exhausted to maintain his guard fully.

“You should eat,” you said, approaching the bed slowly. “Your body needs nourishment to heal.”

Jacaerys eyed the bowl warily. “And how do I know it's not poisoned?” he asked, his voice still rough.

You resisted the urge to sigh. Instead, you took a small sip of the broth yourself. “See? Not poisoned. Though I suppose if you're determined to believe the worst of me, you could argue I've built up an immunity.”

A flicker of something - maybe amusement? - passed across Jacaerys' face, but it was gone in an instant. He took the bowl from you with his good hand, careful not to let his fingers brush against yours. As you turned to take his glass, with the intention of getting him more water, you noticed him trying to push himself up into a sitting position. His face paled with the effort, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Please,” you said, setting the bowl aside and moving to help him. “Let me-”

“Don't touch me,” he snapped, his voice strained. “I can manage on my own.”

“But-”

Jacaerys ignored you, gritting his teeth as he finally managed to prop himself up against the headboard. He was breathing heavily from the exertion, his good hand pressed against his bandaged abdomen.

You waited patiently for him to recover, then offered the bowl of broth once more. This time, he took it with a curt nod, though his hand trembled slightly as he brought the spoon to his lips.

As he ate, you busied yourself around the small room, straightening things and gathering fresh bandages. You could feel his eyes on you, tracking your movements.

“What's your name?” he asked suddenly, breaking the tense silence.

You turned to face him, surprised by the question. “It's Y/n,” you replied.

Jacaerys nodded slightly, his face unreadable. “You will be compensated, once I am fully healed.”

You shook your head gently, a small smile playing on your lips. “That's not necessary, my Prince. As I said before, your recovery is payment enough.”

Jacaerys frowned, his brow furrowing. “I insist. I won't be indebted to anyone, especially not...” He trailed off, seemingly catching himself before saying something potentially offensive.

“Especially not a commoner?” you finished for him, your tone mild but with a hint of challenge. “Or perhaps you meant to say 'especially not someone who could be an enemy'?”

The prince had the grace to look slightly abashed, though he quickly masked it with a scowl. “You can't blame me for being cautious. These are dangerous times.”

You nodded, acknowledging his point. “Indeed they are. Which is why I hope you can understand my reluctance to accept payment. I have no desire to be seen as profiting from this war, regardless of which side emerges victorious.”

Jacaerys studied you for a long moment, his dark eyes searching your face. “You're either very noble or very foolish,” he said finally.

“Perhaps a bit of both,” you replied with a wry smile. “Now, if you've finished eating, I need to change your bandages again.”

As you gathered the necessary supplies, Jacaerys watched you warily. “You never answered my question about where we are,” he said.

You paused, “We're in a small village near the God's Eye,” you said finally. 

His jaw tightened, but he didn't press further. As you began to work on his bandages, he remained tense, flinching slightly at your touch despite your efforts to be gentle.

You could see him squirm from the corner of your eye as your hands removed the bandage that covered the gash on his abdomen, he moved his hand to the sheets, tightly clasping them as an attempt of relief at the pain.

As you carefully peeled away the bandage, Jacaerys inhaled sharply, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. You paused, looking up at him with concern.

“I'm sorry,” you said softly. “I know it hurts. I'll try to be as gentle as possible.”

Jacaerys clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere above your head. “Just get on with it,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

You nodded, returning your attention to the wound. The gash was deep, running from just below his ribs to his hip. The stitches you'd placed held firm, but the skin around them was angry and red. You frowned, silently starting to clean it gently with a herb-infused solution, feeling Jacaerys flinch and hold back a pained grunt with each touch.

“How long might this take?” he broke the silence after you’d adjusted his posture on the bed to wrap the new bandage around his torso. 

“I am almost done, my Prince.”

“No, how long until I can fight again?”

You paused, your hands stilling on the bandage. Looking up at Jacaerys, you saw determination burning in his eyes, mixed with a hint of desperation. You took a deep breath, considering your words carefully.

“My Prince,” you began gently, “your injuries are severe. The gash on your abdomen alone will take weeks, if not months, to heal completely. And that's not considering your broken arm or the other lacerations.”

Jacaerys' face darkened, his good hand clenching into a fist. “Weeks? Months? I don't have that kind of time. The war-”

“Will still be there when you're healed,” you interrupted, your voice firm but kind. “Fighting in your current condition would be a death sentence, my Prince. You'd be more of a liability than an asset on the battlefield.”

His eyes flashed with anger, but you held his gaze steadily. After a moment, he looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“You don't understand,” he said, his voice low and tense. He didn’t say anything else, lifting his arms so you could start to wrap the clean bandage. 

The silence that followed Jacaerys' words was heavy with unspoken thoughts and shared tension. His frustration was palpable, each breath he took a reminder of the pain he was in and the urgency he felt. As you continued to wrap the bandage around his torso, your fingers worked with practiced precision, yet you could feel the tight coil of tension in every muscle beneath your touch.

His skin was warm, the heat of fever not entirely gone, and as you wound the clean linen around his abdomen, you could see the fine lines of strain on his face, the way his jaw clenched against the discomfort. You tried to be as gentle as possible, but each movement seemed to draw a wince from him, a reminder of the toll the battle had taken.

“It’s not too tight, is it?” you asked, breaking the silence.

As you finished wrapping the bandage, Jacaerys gave a curt nod. “It's fine,” he said, his voice tight.

You could see the strain in his eyes, the way he held himself rigidly to avoid showing any sign of weakness. Gently, you helped him lean back against the pillows, ignoring his mumbled protests.

“You need to rest,” you said softly. “Your body has been through a tremendous ordeal.”

Jacaerys closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. When he opened them again, the anger had faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness. “How am I supposed to rest when my family, my people, are out there fighting and dying?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart ached at the pain in his words. Carefully, you sat on the edge of the bed, making sure to give him space. “By remembering that you're no use to them dead,” you replied gently.

“I do not wish to rest,” he struggled to push himself onto a sitting position, trying to get his legs off of the bed. He let out a grunt and a small whine at the pain, immediately stopping to place his good hand over the newly placed bandage. 

“See?” you said, “You can’t even sit without hurting yourself.”

Jacaerys clenched his jaw, frustration evident in every line of his face. “I've endured worse,” he said through gritted teeth, but he made no further attempt to move.

You sighed softly, understanding his determination but worried about the toll it was taking on his body. You stood, settling yourself before him and placing your hands on his shoulders. “You need to rest.”

“I’ve been resting for days!” 

You gave him a look which made him shut his mouth. Before he could protest any further, you applied pressure on his shoulders, making his body follow suit to your moves, and you laid him back down on the bed. “I will get you more supper, my Prince.”

As you gently guided Jacaerys back onto the bed, you could feel the tension in his muscles, the reluctance in every inch of his body. His eyes, dark with frustration and pain, followed you as you moved away.

“I don't need more food,” he said, his voice low and strained. “I need to be out there, fighting alongside my family.”

You paused at the door, turning back to face him. The sight of him, pale and drawn against the pillows, made your heart ache. “My Prince,” you said softly, “I understand your desire to rejoin the fight. But right now, the best thing you can do for your family is to heal.”

Jacaerys let out a bitter laugh that turned into a wince of pain. As you busied yourself preparing the simple meal, you could hear Jacaerys shifting restlessly on the bed. His impatience was palpable, filling the small room with an almost tangible energy. When you returned with a steaming bowl and a chunk of crusty bread, you found him staring at the ceiling, his good hand clenched into a fist at his side.

Jacaerys allowed you to adjust the pillows behind him, wincing slightly as he leaned back. “I can feed myself,” he said quickly as you reached for the spoon.

You nodded, stepping back to give him space. “Of course, my Prince. Just... take it slowly. Your body is still healing.”

He shot you a look that was part irritation, part grudging acceptance. As he began to eat, you busied yourself tidying the room, keeping a watchful eye on him without being too obvious about it.

“Tell me about the war,” Jacaerys said suddenly, breaking the silence. “What news have you heard?”

You hesitated, unsure how much to share. “I... I don't know much, My Prince. We're quite isolated here, and news travels slowly.”

His eyes narrowed, sensing your reluctance. “But you must have heard something. Please, I need to know what's happening out there.”

Sighing softly, you perched on the edge of the bed. “The last I heard, the fighting had spread to the Riverlands. There were rumors of a great battle near Harrenhal, but I don't know the outcome.”

Jacaerys' face tightened, his spoon clattering against the bowl as his hand shook slightly. “What’s wrong?” you immediately asked. He shook his head.

Your hand quickly moved to his forehead, seeing that his fever had gone up since you last checked. Jacaerys' skin was warm to the touch, a worrying sign that the fever, which had seemed to abate, was now surging again. You frowned, your healer's instincts kicking in. He swatted your hand away weakly, but you persisted, feeling the heat radiating from him.

“You're burning up,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “I need to bring your fever down before it gets any worse.”

He sighed, relaxing onto the pillow, finally giving up trying to convince you to let him get up. You left the room to get herbal medicine and a wet towel, lowering yourself to the edge of the bed to place the cloth over his forehead. He shut his eyes at the contact. 

The cloth felt cool against Jacaerys' fevered skin, and he let out a slow, shaky breath as his eyes closed. You could see the tension gradually easing from his body, though his brow remained furrowed with discomfort.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, barely audible, his voice thick with weariness.

Without thinking, you reached out, placing your hand over his. Jacaerys looked down at your hand, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might pull away, but instead, he took a deep breath, some of the tension leaving his body.

He swallowed the thick medicine, making a sour face before picking up his spoon again. As he resumed eating, you noticed a slight tremor in his hand, fatigue already setting in from the simple act of feeding himself. But you knew better than to offer help again, recognizing his need to maintain some sense of independence. Your hand was still in his, you tried not to pay much mind to it, he was wounded after all. 

You watched Jacaerys closely as he struggled to finish his meal, concern etching lines on your face. The renewed fever worried you, a sign that his body was still fighting hard against infection. As he set the spoon down, his hand shaking with the effort, you gently took the bowl from him.

“That's enough for now,” you said softly. “You need to rest.”

Jacaerys opened his mouth as if to protest, but then closed it, nodding weakly. The fight seemed to have gone out of him, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that tugged at your heart.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, his eyes heavy-lidded. “I thought I was getting stronger.”

You shook your head, adjusting the cool cloth on his forehead. “Get some sleep.” His fingers tightened around yours, a small gesture of acknowledgment. You sat there in silence, holding his hand as his breathing gradually evened out into sleep. 

As dawn broke, you stirred from your uncomfortable position in the chair by Jacaerys' bedside. You hadn't meant to fall asleep there, but exhaustion had finally claimed you. Your hand was still entwined with his, and you gently extricated yourself, hoping not to wake him.

Jacaerys' face was peaceful in sleep, the lines of pain and worry smoothed away. His curls were tousled against the pillow, and you resisted the urge to brush them back from his forehead. Instead, you carefully checked his temperature, relieved to find the fever had broken during the night. 

Jacaerys stirred slightly, a soft murmur escaping his lips, but he didn’t wake. You noticed the lines of tension easing from his face, his breathing steady and deep. It was a small victory, but in times of war, even the smallest victories mattered.

Leaving the room quietly, you headed to the small kitchen area to prepare breakfast. You moved with practiced ease, gathering the few ingredients you had. The war had made supplies scarce, and you’d been careful to ration what little you had left. 

When you returned with a simple meal of bread, cheese, and a few herbs, Jacaerys was awake, propped up against the pillows, looking slightly less tense than the night before. His eyes followed you as you set the food down on a small table beside the bed.

“Good morrow,” he mumbled, reaching for the bread like a starved man. 

You offered him a small smile, relieved to see him awake and seemingly better. “Good morrow, my Prince. How are you feeling?”

Jacaerys didn't answer immediately, instead taking a small bite of the bread and chewing thoughtfully. “Better,” he finally admitted, though his voice was still hoarse and weak. “Thank you.”

You nodded, pouring him a cup of water and placing it within easy reach. “You're welcome. Your fever broke during the night, which is a good sign.”

He grunted in response, focusing on finishing the bread. After a few moments of silence, during which you busied yourself tidying up, he spoke again.

“Do you live by yourself?”

“Yes, my Prince.” you nodded.

He furrowed his brows, making a face and stopping his chewing to shake his head. “Enough with the formalities, you’re not my servant,” he took a sip of the water, “Simply call me by my name.”

“Jacaerys,” you said softly, testing the name on your tongue. It felt strange yet oddly comforting to address him so casually. “And yes, I live alone here.”

He nodded slightly, seeming to relax marginally at the use of his name. “Why did you become such a good healer?” he asked after a moment, his voice still rough but curious.

You considered his question, moving to sit on the edge of the bed opposite him. “I suppose it was a calling of sorts,” you began, your gaze thoughtful. “I grew up in a small village not far from here. My mother was a healer herself, and she taught me everything she knew.”

Jacaerys listened quietly, his eyes fixed on your face. As you gazed at each other, something shifted in the air between you. Jacaerys' eyes dropped to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again. 

There was a vulnerability in his eyes that belied the prince he was supposed to be, a young man laid low by wounds and circumstance. You found yourself drawn to him in a way that surprised you, a healer's compassion mixing with something deeper, something unbidden.

“My mother always believed healing was a gift,” you continued, breaking the silence that had settled between you. “She taught me that every life saved was a victory against darkness and despair.”

Jacaerys nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “And you chose to follow in her footsteps,” he murmured, more a statement than a question.

“No... I-,” you replied softly. “I am simply a commoner,”

“You’re not spoken for?”

The question took you by surprise, it must’ve shown on your face by the way Jacaerys scurried to clarify. “I was just curious-”

“I... no, I’m not,” you replied, caught off guard by his sudden inquiry.

Jacaerys hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering away before returning to meet yours. “It’s just... unusual, for someone like you,” he said carefully.

“Someone like me?”

He seemed to panic for a second, eyes widening for a beat before he cleared his throat, “I mean, you’re very kind.” he clarified, though his gaze remained steady on yours. 

You felt a slight flush rise to your cheeks at Jacaerys' words. The idea of being courted had always felt distant and almost foreign to you. Life in a small village near the God's Eye had been quiet and isolated, focused on survival rather than romance or social niceties. Most of the men you knew had gone off to fight in the war, leaving little time or opportunity for such things.

“I... thank you,” you managed to reply, your voice a touch quieter than before. 

As he finished the last of the bread, Jacaerys set the plate aside, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the table. His eyes, still heavy with fatigue but clearer than they had been in days, studied you with a mixture of curiosity and something else you couldn't quite identify.

“Tell me more about yourself,” he said softly, breaking the silence that had settled between you. “How did you come to live here, alone?”

You hesitated, caught off guard by his sudden interest. “It's not a very exciting tale, I'm afraid,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “After my mother passed, I inherited this cottage. It's been my home ever since.”

Jacaerys nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. “I am sorry, she sounds like a very kind woman,”

“It’s alright, it was years ago.” you paused, his chest heaved, lost in thought he bit the inside of his lip. 

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

He was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he smiled. It was a small thing, just a slight upturn of his lips, but it transformed his face, softening the hard lines of battle and pain. “Thank you.”

Over the next few weeks, as Jacaerys' strength slowly returned, you fell into a comfortable routine. You would bring him meals, change his bandages, and help him with gentle exercises to regain his mobility. And in between these tasks, you talked.

Jacaerys, you discovered, was insatiably curious. He asked you about your life, your work, your thoughts on everything from the changing seasons to the intricacies of herbal remedies. At first, you were hesitant, unused to someone taking such an interest in your opinions. But gradually, you found yourself opening up, sharing stories of your childhood, your mother's teachings, the quiet joys and sorrows of your solitary life.

In turn, Jacaerys spoke of his own experiences, though he was careful to avoid mentioning anything too specific about the ongoing war. He told you of his love for flying, the exhilaration of soaring through the clouds on dragonback. He described the beauty of Driftmark, his family's ancestral home, with its shimmering waters and grand halls.

As the days passed, you found yourself looking forward to these conversations more and more. There was something about Jacaerys that put you at ease, despite his royal status. His quick wit and genuine interest in your thoughts made you feel seen in a way you never had before.

His arm had healed, the gash on his stomach still required careful tending, but it was gradually mending.

One day, as you were tending to the herb garden outside your cottage, you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Turning, you saw Jacaerys standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on a makeshift cane you had fashioned for him so it wouldn’t hurt to walk. He looked stronger, more resolute, though still pale and somewhat fragile.

“You're up,” you said, a hint of surprise in your voice. “I didn't hear you come out.”

Jacaerys offered a small smile, his gaze sweeping over the garden. “I didn't want to disturb you,” he replied. “You looked... peaceful. I thought you might need some company,” he said, his voice lighter than it had been in days.

You smiled warmly, gesturing for him to join you. “I could always use an extra pair of hands,” 

He nodded, making his way slowly to where you were kneeling among the herbs. He grunted as he joined your position, hand cradling his bandage in discomfort, “What shall I do?”

As Jacaerys settled beside you in the herb garden, you couldn't help but notice how different he looked in the soft afternoon light. The sun caught in his curls, giving them a golden sheen, and his eyes seemed brighter, more alive than you'd seen them since he first woke in your cottage.

“Here,” you said, handing him a small trowel. “We need to thin out these chamomile plants. They're growing too close together.”

Jacaerys took the tool, his fingers brushing against yours for a moment. You felt a small jolt at the contact, but quickly pushed the feeling aside.

“Like this?” he asked, carefully digging around one of the smaller plants.

You nodded, watching as he worked. His movements were slow and a bit clumsy, but he approached the task with the same determination you'd seen in his eyes when he spoke of returning to battle.

“You're a natural,” you said, offering an encouraging smile. “I imagine it's quite different from wielding a sword or riding a dragon.”

Jacaerys chuckled softly, the sound warming something deep inside you. “Indeed it is,” he replied.

You worked in silence for a while, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Every so often, you'd steal a glance at Jacaerys, marveling at how at ease he seemed in this simple task.

“Tell me,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence, hands threading the weeds as he stole glances at your own hands to mirror your movements. “If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

The question caught you off guard. You'd never really thought about leaving your small corner of the world before. You hummed, “I... I'm not sure,” you admitted. “I've never been far from here.”

Jacaerys looked up from his work, his eyes meeting yours. “Surely you must have dreamed of other places?”

You considered for a moment, your hands continuing to work almost of their own accord. “I suppose... I've always been curious about Oldtown,” you said finally. “The Citadel, with all its knowledge and learning. It must be amazing.”

Jacaerys nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. “It is,” he said softly. “The libraries there are unlike anything you've ever seen. Shelves upon shelves of books, stretching as far as the eye can see.”

“You've been there?” you asked, unable to keep the awe from your voice.

He smiled, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Once, when I was younger. Before...” he trailed off, his gaze turning distant.

You understood. Before the war, before the weight of his responsibilities had fully settled on his shoulders.

“Perhaps...” Jacaerys began, then hesitated. “Perhaps when this is all over, you could see it for yourself.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. The idea was so foreign, so impossible, and yet... the way he said it made it seem almost within reach. The thought of Jacaerys showing you around Oldtown, of exploring those vast libraries together, sent a thrill through you that you couldn't quite ignore.

“I... I would like that,” you replied softly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and something else you couldn't quite define.

Jacaerys smiled, a genuine expression that reached his eyes. “Good,” he said, his voice tinged with warmth. “It's a promise, then.”

Jacaerys' eyes met yours again, and for a moment, you felt as if you were teetering on the edge of something vast and unknowable. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with unspoken possibilities.

But then Jacaerys winced, his hand going to his side where you knew his wound still pained him. The moment shattered, reality rushing back in.

“We should get you back inside,” you said, your healer's instincts taking over. “You've been out here too long.”

Jacaerys nodded, allowing you to help him to his feet with a pained sound from his throat. As you made your way back to the cottage, his arm around your shoulders for support, you couldn't shake the feeling that, even though he was still in pain as of now, he’d eventually have to leave for war again.

Your thoughts raced as you helped Jacaerys back inside the cottage, his weight leaning heavily on you despite his efforts to remain upright after having strained himself into a bad position for his wounds. The image of him in pain, yet determined to return to the battlefield, haunted you. You knew his wounds were healing, but not fast enough for him, not when his heart and mind were still with his family and the war effort.

Inside, you guided him back to the bed, where he eased himself down with a grunt of pain. His face was drawn, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he settled against the pillows.

“You shouldn't have pushed yourself,” you said softly, your voice tinged with concern as you adjusted the pillows behind him.

Jacaerys spoke, his voice strained. “I can't just stay idle while others fight and die.”

You sighed, sitting beside him on the bed. “I understand your need to fight, Jacaerys. But you're not yet strong enough. Rushing back into battle could do more harm than good.”

His eyes searched for yours, frustration and determination warring within them. “But every day that passes, I feel more useless,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You're not useless,” you countered gently, your hand reaching out to grasp his. 

Jacaerys sighed heavily, his fingers tightening around yours. 

For a long moment, Jacaerys was silent, his gaze fixed on some distant point. The tension in his body slowly eased, his fingers relaxing slightly around yours. “I don't want to be weak,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself.

“You're not weak, Jacaerys,” you said firmly, meeting his eyes. “You're healing,” you continued softly, squeezing his hand gently. “It takes time. And taking the time you need now will make you stronger in the long run.”

Jacaerys looked down at your intertwined hands, his expression conflicted. “I've always been taught that strength is in action, not in rest,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“Strength is also in knowing when to rest,” you replied gently.

As Jacaerys looked up at you, his eyes softened. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out with his free hand to gently cup your cheek. Letting out a sound that sounded almost like a plea, he pulled your face down to meet his. 

The first brush of his lips sent a shiver through you, a gentle exploration that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions. Jacaerys' lips were warm and soft, molding against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own. His fingers threaded through your hair, pulling you closer, as if afraid to let go of this fragile moment.

You responded instinctively, leaning into him, your hand finding its place against his chest. Beneath your touch, you felt the steady beat of his heart, strong and steady, echoing the rhythm of your own pulse. The scent of earth and herbs mingled with the subtle fragrance of his skin, creating a heady mix that enveloped you both.

He furrowed his brows, trying to focus on the kiss and not his inexperience. He’d spent most of his teen years fighting in wars, after all. 

His lips moved tentatively against yours, a mixture of desire and uncertainty evident in his touch. His hand remained on your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your skin as if trying to commit every detail of this moment to memory.

His touch is tender, and his kiss carries a mix of uncertainty and desire. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your hand. Perhaps he's been so focused on duty and honor that he's only now allowing himself to explore softer, more vulnerable emotions. He kisses you as if it’s the last thing he will ever do, not hungry enough to be lust but soft enough for your mind to swirl with possibilities of why your heart feels fluttery in your chest. 

But then, as Jacaerys shifted his position ever so slightly, a sharp intake of breath escaped him. His hand instinctively moved from your cheek to clutch at his side, where the lingering pain from his wound had suddenly flared up.

You pulled back immediately, concern etched on your face. “Are you alright?” Your voice carried a mixture of worry and compassion.

He winced, his features tense with pain. “It's nothing,” he managed through gritted teeth, trying to reassure you even as he struggled to catch his breath. 

“I just... I wanted...” Jacaerys's voice trailed off, frustration evident in his eyes as he looked away, unable to finish his thought.

You gently placed your hand on Jacaerys's shoulder, silently urging him to rest against the pillows. His brow furrowed with pain as he settled back, his breathing still labored. The moment of intimacy between you both had faded into the background, replaced by the urgent need to tend to his worsening pain.

“It's alright,” you assured him softly, your fingers brushing lightly over his forehead. “Just breathe. Let the pain pass.”

Jacaerys closed his eyes briefly, focusing on regulating his breath. You followed the usual routine, giving him pain-killing medicine, stepping out of the room while he changed into your old father’s clothes, and continuing to provide the healing and care he needed in the following days. The conversation about the kiss was long gone.

As the days passed, Jacaerys continued to heal under your careful attention. The gash on his stomach gradually closed, leaving behind a thin scar that was appearing. His arm, once injured and immobile, regained strength. He was practically healed.

As Jacaerys's physical condition improved, a palpable tension grew between you both. The memory of that tender kiss lingered, unspoken but ever-present in the air. You found yourself stealing glances at him when you thought he wasn't looking, your heart fluttering at the sight of his tousled curls or the way his brow furrowed in concentration as he read one of your few books.

Jacaerys, too, seemed more aware of your presence. His eyes would follow you as you moved about the cottage, and his hand would often linger a moment too long when you passed him things. Yet neither of you spoke of what had happened, as if addressing it might somehow break the fragile peace you had found.

One morning, you awoke to find Jacaerys standing by the window, his posture tense and alert. He ran his hands through his hair in stress, wearing the same clothes you found him in the day you took him into your care. Your heart sank as you realized what this meant.

“Jacaerys?” you said softly, approaching him.

He turned to face you, his expression a mix of determination and regret. “Y/n,” he began, his voice low and serious. “I must return to the war.”

A part of you had anticipated this moment would come, but you dreaded it. You had known from the beginning that Jacaerys was not just any injured soldier seeking refuge – he was a prince, with responsibilities that extended far beyond the confines of your quiet garden.

You approached him slowly, reaching out to gently touch his arm. “Jacaerys, rushing back into battle–”

He cut you off gently, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and resolve. “I need to do this,” he said firmly. “They need to know that I haven't abandoned them.”

You sighed softly, “I understand,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Jacaerys's expression softened, his hand coming up to your chin. His eyes scanning your face for a few seconds, trying to memorize every freckle, every detail he possibly could before he left again. 

For a moment, you both stood there, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. Then, with a sudden urgency, Jacaerys leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, his eyes fluttering closed as his lips met yours. The kiss was urgent, passionate, filled with all the unspoken emotions that had built up between you. His lips were warm and soft against yours, moving with a newfound confidence and intensity.

One of his hands cupped your face gently, his thumb caressing your cheek, while the other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart echoing your own racing pulse.

The kiss deepened, Jacaerys tilting his head slightly to better capture your lips. There was a hint of desperation in the way he kissed you, as if he was trying to memorize every sensation, every taste, every feeling. His tongue gently traced your bottom lip, seeking permission, which you granted with a soft sigh.

As the kiss intensified, you found your hands moving of their own accord - one threading through his soft curls, the other gripping the fabric of his shirt at his chest. The scent of him enveloped you - a mixture of herbs from your garden, the earthiness of the forest, and something uniquely Jacaerys.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the kiss. It was bittersweet, filled with the joy of finally giving in to your feelings, but tinged with the sadness of knowing it might be a goodbye. Jacaerys kissed you as if it was both the first and last time, pouring every ounce of his gratitude, affection, and regret into this one moment.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Jacaerys rested his forehead against yours. Silently, he moved his hands to your wrist, gently untying one of your bracelets and nudging your fingers with his. He held the bracelet in his hand for a moment, running his thumb over the woven threads.

“May I keep this?” he asked softly, his eyes meeting yours.

You nodded, unable to find words as emotion welled up in your throat. Jacaerys carefully tucked the bracelet into a pocket, as if it were a precious treasure. 

He grasped your face in his hands again, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. Lingering, he moved down to your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your mouth. He kissed every inch of your face, his eyes furrowed close as if he was trying to forget where he was going – if he was ever going to see you again. Finally, he reached your mouth again, giving you a slow kiss.

Jacaerys stepped back. He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders as if preparing to face the world beyond your cottage. Unable to trust your voice to respond, you reached out and gently squeezed his hand, conveying your own gratitude and a silent farewell.

With a final, lingering look, Jacaerys turned away and made his way out of the cottage, his steps steadier than they had been in weeks. You watched him go, feeling a mix of pride and sadness as he disappeared from view. Alone once more in the quiet of your cottage, you leaned against the doorframe, your heart heavy with the weight of his absence. The memory of his touch lingered on your skin, his kiss still warm against your lips.

Months passed in a blur of uncertainty and waiting. As the war waged on, your heart remained tethered to Jacaerys, hoping and praying for his safety. You tended to your garden with a quiet determination, finding solace in the familiar rhythms of nature amid the turmoil beyond your cottage walls. Everytime a new black soldier came for aid at the care center, you’d sneakily ask about the war, for news, for numbers of wounded and dead – anything you could grasp onto.

News of the war's eventual end arrived like a bittersweet whisper, bringing relief mingled with sorrow for the lives lost. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, as you continued your solitary existence, never quite giving up hope that one day Jacaerys might return.

Then, on a crisp morning that carried the promise of autumn, a knock echoed through your cottage. Startled, you set down your gardening tools and hurried to the door. When you opened it, your breath caught in your throat.

There stood Jacaerys, his once-pristine armor now battered and bloodied, a testament to the trials he had faced. His hair was unkempt, his face lined with weariness, but his eyes held a familiar spark of determination and relief as they met yours.

“Y/n,” he breathed, his voice hoarse but filled with emotion.

A rush of emotions flooded through you – joy, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of relief that he had returned to you. Without a word, you threw your arms around him, holding him close as if afraid he might vanish again.

Jacaerys held you just as tightly, his arms wrapping around you as if seeking reassurance that you were real. “I'm here,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with exhaustion and gratitude.

Together, you stepped inside the cottage, the weight of the past months hanging in the air but overshadowed by the sheer relief of being reunited. Jacaerys sank into a chair, and you fetched a basin of water and a cloth to tend to his wounds. As you cleaned the blood and grime from his face and hands, your touch was gentle, conveying a silent understanding of all he had endured.

Once cleaned up, Jacaerys looked around the familiar surroundings of your cottage, a sense of peace settling over him. “It feels like a lifetime since I was last here,” he admitted softly, his eyes meeting yours.

You nodded, sitting beside him and taking his hand in yours. Your instinct made your hands  immediately go to his forearm, a cut that was no longer bleeding on it, tenderly tracing over the healed wound, feeling the scar that marked him.

“I'm glad you're back,” you murmured, your voice filled with a mixture of relief and lingering concern. He took your hand in his, his eyes searching yours with earnest intensity. 

“I want to stay,” he said quietly, his voice steady yet filled with vulnerability. “Here, with you.”

You squeezed his shoulder, a grin plastered on your face as he mirrored your movements. 

“Let me tend to your wounds,” you said softly, guiding him to sit by the hearth where you had once helped him find refuge. Jacaerys lowered himself gratefully, wincing slightly as he settled, his armor clinking softly with the movement. The air was thick with unspoken emotions, a delicate balance of relief and the weight of their shared experiences.

You fetched fresh water and clean cloths, moving with practiced care as you began to clean the grime and blood from his face and hands. Each gentle touch spoke of the months apart, of your worry and hope intertwined. 

Jacaerys watched you silently, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude, much like the first time you had tended to him.

[gracexthoughts]

intrusion 

jacaerys velaryon x wife!reader

warnings; assault, blood and fighting, break in, cursing, pretty typical for canon universe level of violence, no use of y/n or character description, men being creeps summary; from this request. two intruders, sent by the greens, stumble upon you in their search for rhaenyra and decide to take you as their prize instead a/n; i love this request sm and wrote this kinda fast so apologies for any mistakes. please do not read if any of the above is triggering to you. i put *** on either end of the physical attack on reader if you want to avoid it

The night has been restless for you. A storm lashes at the island Dragonstone towers over; rain and lightning and thunder tearing at the walls of the keep, wind howling against the window pains. Your husband, Jacaerys, is still gone after being sent to treat with some ally. He has yet to return, and you cannot help the worry that has wormed its way into your chest. The storm has held him up, you repeat to yourself, sighing as you toss in bed to lay on your back. Even though you’ve only been married for a few moons, the bed feels too large without his warmth next to you. 

Lighting illuminates the room, and the door to your chambers bursts open as thunder claps, covering the sound of the wood banging against the stone. You bolt up, hoping to see Jacaerys, but instead, you are met with two pairs of unfamiliar eyes. 

Two men stand in the doorway of your chambers, one tall and skinny, a white scar across his face shining in the torchlight, and the other short with muscles pushing against the seams of his clothing. Fear seizes your heart as they examine the room. “Who are you?” you demand sharply, attempting to cover the fear in your voice with the commanding tone you hear Queen Rhaenyra use so often. 

“That’s not the bloody Whore Queen,” the stout man grumbles in a Flea Bottom accent, lowering the torch slightly. Whore Queen, they called your mother-by-law. The Greens sent them, you realize, your heartbeat increasing its pace.

“That’s the bastard prince’s bitch,” the taller one sneers, kicking the door closed and stalking forward.

“Where’s your princeling at, girly?” the other coos, placing the torch in the sconce near the door. As they come closer, you scoot away on the bed, their eyes like rabid animals circling prey. 

“The library,” you lie, “He’s due to come to bed any minute.” Your hand slowly moves under the pillow behind you, searching for the small dagger Jacaerys insisted you sleep with since the attack on his mother by Ser Arryk. The men look at each other, evil smiles splitting their faces. 

“Just came from the library,” the shorter man sneers, stepping up onto the platform the bed sits on. 

“No bastards there. Seems like you’re all alone,” the tall man coos, biting his lip as he stands at the foot of the bed. Your fingers close around the cool hilt of the dagger as the blankets of the bed are ripped off you. You don’t move, keeping the dagger hidden under the pillows, even as the men scan your figure, only clad in a silk nightdress. 

*** 

“Leave now, and the Queen and the Prince will reward you; I’ll ensure it,” you say, your voice beginning to quiver slightly in fear. 

“Oh, the Queen and Prince will reward us, alright, just not your lot,” the man at the foot of the bed smiles menacingly. “Hold her down.” The man at your side reaches out for you, and you slash at him with the dagger, managing a deep cut on his arm. The man stumbles back, a raging yell from his lips. 

“GUARDS! HELP!” You scream, trying to move to the left side of the bed, but your leg is pulled back, and your arm that holds the dagger is pinned down to your side by a heavy boot, a rough hand covering your mouth and muffling your screams. 

“Shut up, idiot,” the taller man grumbles to the other, who still wails, before turning back to you, “I heard you were a feisty one,” he laughs as he hovers above you, wrenching the dagger free and bringing it up to your face. 

“Little cunt, more like,” the man you cut grumbles, glaring at you as tears of fear blur your vision. 

“You’ll be fine. Help me with her, would ya?” The two men grab your arms and legs, dragging you from the bed. You cry out as you land on the hard stone floor.

“Shut up!” One of them growls behind you, pulling you up by your hair and covering your mouth. You squirm and fight as best as you can, but the men have the advantage and chuckle at your feeble attempts as they shove you up against the wall. You cry out again as your head connects with the wall and they begin tying your hands with rough rope as you pray silently to any god who will listen.

***

Before they can secure the ropes completely, blood sprays out of the taller man’s chest as a sword splits him in two. The hands on your limbs relent as the man is pulled off you, revealing Jacaerys, sword dripping with blood, face dark with rage and hair wet with rain. 

Jace tosses the man to the floor before his eyes turn predatorily to the stockier man who draws a short sword from his belt. You watch in shock as your husband engages with the man, attacking him with more vigor and bloodlust than you thought possible for the sweet man you know. You back away hurriedly and crouch in the corner of the room, desperately trying to get as far away from the fight as possible.

A hand pulls your attention from the fight, and you flinch away before turning to see the Queen, your mother-by-law, reaching for you. Her face is soft but urgent. She goes again for your hand, pulling you to her and helping you stand. She pulls you into her, taking care the shield you as gentle arms wrap around your shaking body, not caring that the blood on your front will stain her gown. You cling to her desperately, listening to her whispers of comfort, and turn your head to see Ser Lorrent pushing the intruder to his knees in front of the Prince, his blade to the man’s throat as more guards rush into the room. Jacaerys stands over the man menacingly, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breath, blood pooling from a gash on the intruder’s leg onto the stone floor. 

“Your friend is lucky I gave him a quick death,” Jacaerys growls, glaring at the man on the floor as he crouches down in front of him like a predator, “You won’t be so. I’ll be sure to send The Usurper a message with your head, once I’ve made you pay for touching my wife.” You’ve never seen such rage in your husband before; his usually so soft and sweet amber eyes now contorted with hatred, the flames from the torchlight reflecting in his eyes as if the fire is inside him. His sword drips with blood, mixing with the blood pool on the floor and yet there’s not a scratch on him. Rhaenyra squeezes you tightly for a moment before releasing you and stepping forward. 

“Take him to the dungeons, have two guards on duty at all times, and summon the maids,” commands the Queen to Ser Lorrent, who nods and drags the man from your chambers, a trail of blood in their wake. You watch, without moving from your corner, as Rhaenyra cups her son’s face before taking her leave and the guards, and Jacaerys turns to you; all the hardness in his gaze melted away and replaced by wide eyes full of concern. He speaks your name, his voice cracking slightly at the sight of you, and you throw yourself to him. His sword clatters to the ground as his muscular arms catch you, a hand cradling your head against his chest and the other wrapped around your waist tightly. Your knees give out as the shock leaves your veins, and the pair of you drop to the floor. 

“How did-” 

“The storm made the flight back harder than I expected. I was on my way up when I found a dead guard. They’d pushed the body behind a pillar, but I still saw it. I thought they’d come for Mother again, so I ran to her chambers first. When I saw her undisturbed, I just knew,” Jace explains softly, brushing your hair soothingly, his thumb wiping away tears and blood spatters from your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, my love. I should’ve been here. I should have come here first, I-I’m going to kill them all for laying a hand on you.”

Jacaerys’ mind is reeling and he’s sure he has never been so scared as he was when he found those men attacking his wife, his love, his heart. His more violent side, one he pushes down for the sake of decency, itches to storm down to the dungeons and torture the man who dared hurt you, to make him pay for every second of pain he caused you, to fly to King’s Landing himself to find those responsible for this night and add their blood to his blade. But you need him more in this moment and he is ever at your will.

“S’not your fault,” you say softly, your voice weaker than you’d like. Jace opens his mouth, but two maids enter the room, clearly having just been woken, eyes wide at the state of your chambers. 

“Pardon, my prince, my lady,” the elder of the two says softly, dark blue eyes full of sympathy. Your husband helps you stand, his arm staying protectively around your shoulder. 

"Let us wash and try to find sleep," he says softly to you before turning to ask one of the maids to make the bed in your old chambers and run you a bath. Jacaerys wraps his dark red and still-damp cape around your shoulders before leading you down the halls to the chambers you lived in before your marriage. The familiar surroundings comfort you as Jace leads you to the couch before starting a fire in the hearth.

Soon, the bed has been made up and a hot bath drawn and your husband dismisses the maids, thanking them for their help at such late hours. Jacaerys gently helps you undress and step into the bath. Kneeling outside, he helps wash away the night's evidence, softly sponging the blood from your skin and wringing it from your hair. You lean into his soft touch, finding comfort in his presence and care. Few words are spoken between you as he cares for you but in this moment, his presence is all you want. You can sense the anger in Jace lingering under his skin, needling at his mind, but he stays by your side, whispering promises that he won’t leave you, that he’ll always protect you; your wellbeing more important to him than anything else in the world.

Once you are dressed in a clean nightgown and all blood cleansed from both of you, the pair of you crawl into bed together, your head on his broad chest, allowing his heartbeat to lull you back into a sense of safety. It is not until the first rays of light begin to shine through the curtains that you both find sleep, but you do eventually, wrapped in the loving embrace of each other.

[saltywritings]

Unsworn Protector ( Gwayne Hightower x Targaryen Niece! Reader )

Summary: The reader is sent to Old Town with Daeron, however, is left in an uncomfortable situation when her uncle finds her with a pillow.

Warnings: explicit smut under the cut minors do not interact, incest, age gap, reader has a pillow princess moment, oral (female receiving), penetration, Gwayne is giving sub vibes.

Word count: 3,728

The journey to Old Town was arduous and slow, a monotonous trek that seemed designed to drain one's spirit. Few things could be more disheartening than being sent to Old Town, a place that felt like exile. Your mother, the queen, insisted that sending you and your younger brother Daeron there was for the best, claiming it would build character—whatever that meant. Yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that she simply preferred not to deal with you. Sending you and Daeron away made it easier for her to focus on Aegon. Despite her intentions, you were frustrated by being uprooted from your home, all in the name of this so-called character building.

When the carriage finally arrived in Old Town, your eyes took in the sights as you traveled swiftly through the city. Having spent your entire life in King's Landing, Old Town seemed exceptionally small. You noticed the tall walls surrounding the castle, some sections near the gate clad in ivy.

"Finally, we're here," Daeron exclaimed as he rushed to the carriage door, eager to free himself from its confines.

With a mix of frustration and disgust, you pushed at your brother’s back as he deliberately blocked the carriage door, trapping you inside. "Daeron!" you shouted, your hands shoving at the coarse fabric of his shirt. "Let me out, you fool!" You struggled against him as he laughed, his mirth only heightening your irritation.

Suddenly, another voice cut through the commotion. "Come now, my prince. Let your sister out," it urged. Reluctantly, Daeron relented and stepped down the few stairs, finally freeing you from the confined space of the carriage.

As you finally freed yourself from the carriage, you realized the voice belonged to your uncle, Gwayne Hightower. Though many years had passed since you last saw him, you recognized him instantly. Stepping forward, your feet now firmly planted on the ground, you shot a sharp glare at Daeron, resisting the urge to shove him, before turning back to your uncle.

"Thank you, Uncle," you said with a small nod.

Daeron, looking bewildered, finally noticed Gwayne. "Oh—Uncle Gwayne. I didn’t recognize you," he replied, prompting you to narrow your eyes.

"I’m not surprised," you said. "You were but a babe the last time he visited."

"Indeed you were," Gwayne said with a warm smile. "I'm surprised you recognize me, Princess. You've grown as much as your brother."

He stepped forward, extending his hand toward you. You raised yours to meet his, and he took it gently, bringing it to his lips with a delicate kiss that conveyed a soft, caring warmth. Your eyes fluttered slightly as you looked at him, appreciating the affectionate gesture.

"You've grown so much," he remarked, turning his attention to Daeron.

"I'm certain I haven't grown that much," you insisted with a modest smile.

Daeron glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and snorted. "Oh, trust me, you’ve grown—just not in height, sister," he mocked. Unable to restrain yourself, you gave him a small shove in response.

Your uncle watched the exchange, a faint smile playing on his lips, and shook his head with a soft chuckle at your sibling rivalry.

Gwayne shook his head with a gentle sigh, his gaze shifting to Daeron. "Now, nephew, I understand why your mother insisted on sending you here. One day, you'll realize the value of your sister's presence. Treat her with the respect she deserves," he urged, his tone firm yet compassionate. You cast a sidelong glance at your brother, a small smile playing on your lips now that your uncle had come to your defense.

Daeron responded with an eye roll, his demeanor defiant. Gwayne cleared his throat, his expression turning more serious. "I'll have your cousin show you to your room, Daeron," he declared, nodding towards him. "As for you, Princess," Gwayne continued, extending his arm toward you. "I will personally escort you to your chambers." You took his arm promptly, grateful for his support and guidance in this unfamiliar place.

Gwayne escorted you up the stairs and down a hallway to your assigned room. As the door swung open, you couldn't shake the feeling of entering a stranger's room. Though the space was well-appointed and fair, it lacked the personal touch of home. Sensing your unease, Gwayne spoke up as the two of you entered.

"This will be your chambers. My quarters are just next door," he explained, his voice reassuring. "Consider me your protector, close at hand." His words were accompanied by a small, comforting smile.

In that moment, you realized Gwayne's striking presence: his piercing blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and eloquent speech. His demeanor offered a sense of security that eased your nerves, prompting you to return his smile warmly.

"You are to be your sworn protector then?" you questioned, eyebrows knitting together as you stood somewhat puzzled. Gwayne couldn't help but chuckle softly as he shook his head.

"No, sweet niece. There's no need for that here," he reassured you gently, "but I promise to watch over you." His words carried a comforting assurance.

You nodded in understanding, your hand still linked with his arm. "Did my mother explain why she sent me here?" you asked, recalling her vague answers and insistence that leaving the Red Keep was in your best interest. Gwayne sensed your unease and took your hands in his with tender care.

"Niece," he spoke softly, "Your mother didn't want to send you away, but you're soon to be married—or at least betrothed. She thought it would be easier for you not to be uprooted from your home like many maidens are." His explanation caused you to look away, a mixture of emotions stirring within you.

"I don't want to be betrothed to a stranger," you confessed to your uncle, your hands still held in his. "The thought of belonging to a man I don't know, who doesn't know me—it frightens me."

Gwayne's expression softened at your confession. He released one of your hands and gently cupped your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. His blue eyes held a depth of understanding as he listened intently to your words.

"Your feelings are valid, my dear. Many women share your apprehensions—I know your mother did," Gwayne said soothingly, hoping to bring you comfort. "Besides, not every lady finds herself betrothed to a stranger. Try not to let fear cloud your judgment until you've had the chance to know your intended," he urged gently, sensing he had eased your nerves.

"I'll leave you to rest now," Gwayne added, seeing your nod of approval. With that, he quietly exited your chambers.

As night descended upon Old Town, you tossed and turned in your sleep, consumed by an unrelenting yearning. The unfamiliar blankets and sheets, devoid of your scent, offered no comfort. Frustrated, you reached for a plush pillow, sitting up and clutching it tightly between your thighs. Slowly, you would rock your hips back and forth, pushing down your core with some friction to alleviate this frustration that burned between your thighs. Your eyes fluttered closed, your night gown slipping from your shoulder as your hips desperately humped the pillow beneath you. You thought of your uncle, you knew you shouldn't, and yet- you could not help but to think of how kissed your hand, the blue of his eyes, how he smelled of sage.

On the other side of the door, Gwayne awoke to a plaintive sound that he initially mistook for a cry. Even through the stone walls, the soft echo of his niece's distress reached him. With concern driving him, Gwayne rose from his bed, the urgency of his duty as her uncle compelling him. He slipped into a pair of pants and quietly left his room.

It was his responsibility to care for and protect her in this unfamiliar place, in the absence of their family. Moving with cautious steps, Gwayne approached her door. Normally, he would have knocked, but in his haste and concern, he bypassed this customary courtesy. He gently pushed the door open, making as little noise as possible.

What Gwayne had come face to face with made him freeze, his entire body tensing up as he looked to the figure of you, the princess, feverously humping a pillow. Your shoulder exposed and hard nipples showing through the sheer of the night gown. Your eyes were still closed as your hips rocked against the pillow. Eyebrows pushed together as soft cries left your lips. Gwayne was more than aware that he should not be there, that he should not be witnessing this, and yet he could not tear his eyes away.

Then you said it, "Gwayne." His name left your lips like a melody and it took one hush of his name to make him impossibly hard. To the point in stung and bulged from his trousers. It was then your eyes fluttered open, and in a few blinks they widened realizing that your uncle stood in the doorway. In a panic your hands grasped the pillow and brought it up to cover yourself.

"Oh, Gods. Princess, I'm -I'm sorry -" Gwayne barely managed to gush an apology as he had went fleeing the room, closing the door behind him as he went rushing back to his room. In the midst of his embarrassment he had been sweating, his heart racing as he stayed in the confides of his room.

He was still hard. Gwayne tried not to think about you. He tried not to think about how you cried as you humped your pillow or how sweetly you spoke his name but he could not.

Gwayne would wrestle with himself for nearly an hour, but at the agony of his own groin he could not contain himself. Gwayne would still be standing as he pulled his pants down, freeing his length as he took it in one hand.

This was wrong, this was so wrong.

And still, he began to pump himself to the thought of you pleasing yourself with a pillow.

I shouldn't be doing this.

He wondered how it would feel to be between your soft thighs, to have you be humping him.

He was almost there.

To have you scream his name instead of whisper it.

Gwayne would soon spill his seed onto the ground as his hand feverishly pumped himself to the thought of you. Gwayne would attempt to find sleep that night but had been unable to do so.

When the next day dawned, you anticipated a conversation with your uncle about the events of the previous night. However, it soon became apparent that Gwayne was actively avoiding you. He didn't join you for breakfast or supper, and your cousin took it upon themselves to entertain you with a tour of Old Town, while another cousin kept you occupied with needlepoint throughout the day. Despite your efforts, the entire day passed without a glimpse of him.

Returning to your chambers in the evening, a growing discomfort settled within you. You couldn't shake the feeling that Gwayne's absence was deliberate. Did he feel embarrassed for having found you in distress? Was he ashamed of you? These thoughts churned in your mind as you lay on your bed, staring up at the canopy for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, unable to endure the uncertainty any longer, you threw off the blankets and stormed out of your chambers. Determined, you strode purposefully to his door, bypassing the courtesy of knocking—after all, he hadn't extended the same courtesy to you last night. You entered his chambers with your face flushed with agitation.

Inside, Gwayne was not asleep. He sat up in bed, bare-chested with the blankets draped over his hips, revealing that he wore nothing underneath either.

"Princess, what are you doing?" Gwayne asked abruptly, his gaze flickering to the sheerness of your nightgown, which left little to the imagination. It was evident that your attire was not quite appropriate for a princess, but after what Gwayne had witnessed the previous night, your choice of clothing was the least of your concerns.

"You walked in on me last night and now you avoid me all day?" you questioned boldly, lifting your chin as you approached his bedside. Gwayne's hands tightened on the blanket, his discomfort palpable as you drew nearer.

"You should go," he insisted, attempting to avert his eyes from you.

"Why?" You questioned sharply as he approached. "Are you ashamed of me now?"

Gwayne shook his head, you had not yet noticed, and he had hoped you hadn't as he looked away.

"It's not that." he insisted quietly.

Your eyes looked down the look of anger seeming to melt from your face as your eyes noticed the bulge beneath the blankets. He was hard, trying to hide it, but failing to do so.

"Please leave." He was begging with all restraint he had. Gwayne could not even look you in the eye as he kept the blankets around him.

You stood there for a moment unsure how to approach but desire beginning to burn between your legs as you looked to him.

"Do you desire me, uncle?" You questioned moving closer to him as a hand gently touched his thigh grabbing a handful of the sheets he was using to cover himself.

"It is wrong- I should not." He said, answering your question without actually answering your question. It was enough for you, his grip tightening to hold the sheets in place as you carefully slid one leg up on the bed, allowing it to rest on one side of him. Gwayne showed restraint, but only little.

"Who says?" you questioned, eyes staring into his as he finally had enough gull to look at you.

"The Gods." he declared. "Common law-" he tried to say with some reason, the one thread of restraint still holding on within him.

"Fuck the Gods," You declared as your hand gave a gentle pull at the sheets. "Fuck Common Law-" He continued to hold on as you pulled. "And fuck me." you said nearly pleading.

Gwayne held the blankets for a moment longer as his eyes looked to you. "You are a maiden, are you not?" He questioned unsure in this moment based on your behavior.

"I am." you declared honestly as you looked to him.

"I can not deflower my own niece." He said allowing a moment of pride to shield him.

"I do not want my first time to be with some lord that I am married off to as a bargaining chip." You insisted nearly pleading. "I desire you, uncle and you desire me." You declared, his grip on the sheet loosening.

Gwayne battled with himself for a moment, but only for a moment, for his strong hands would reach for your face, pulling you gently to meet his lips. Your body pulled onto him as your lips met his. Gwayne kissed your lips with the hunger of a starved man, his hands moved to your night gown and pulled it up, parting his lips to discard it from your body leaving you exposed to him.

He wasted little time in pushing you down onto the mattress, allowing himself to rest above you. In the moon light he took in your bare figure, soon peppering kisses between the valley of your breast and down your body to your cunt. His lips would kiss down to your bud before he grabbed onto your hips. Pulling your thighs to rest on his shoulders as his face pushed into your cunt in a way a pillow never could. It was by this that you were already squirming, back arching at his touch.

Gwayne would not hesitate to allow his tongue to lay flat against your flushed sensitive bud, your hips pushing down slightly as he tried to keep you in place with his grip. Gwayne would lick slowly, tasting your virgin cunt as if it was a delicacy, something he was determine to savor.

Soft moans left your lips as his tongue continued to work against your dripping cunt. Gwayne was carefully when he inserted a finger inside of you. He did not dare to put more than one for with just one finger he could feel how incredibly tight you were. a realization that caused his cock to ache.

Gwayne would slowly pump his finger in and out of you as you moaned loudly, your hands becoming entangled in his long locks, and your thighs pushing shut against him. Gwayne wanted to question you, to ask how you were so sensitive, why you tasted so sweet- but he could not bring himself to remove his tongue if the king himself demanded it.

There would be a hot coil inside of you that would form, growing tighter, as your wet cunt clenched around his finger, and within a moment the coil snapped. A warm orgasm flushing over you as your thighs squeezed his head without mercy, soft tears fell from your eyes as you came down from your high. You were panting as your thighs loosened, Gwayne would pull his finger from you before sticking it in his mouth to suck in clean of your sweet juices.

The two of you locked eyes as you stared at one another for a moment. His hard cock pushed against the inside of your thigh as he debated if he should go through with this.

"We shouldn't." Gwayne gave a small fight once more for the sake of his honor and your own.

"Who would know?" You offered a simple excuse, hoping he would not declare the gods again.

"Who would know . . ." he repeated before he nodded. "You're right. Who would know." Gwayne reasoned as he grabbed his cock as he had carefully begun to move it against the wet folds of your cunt.

"You could drink moon tea after." he suggested again as you nodded in response.

"You're sure?" he asked again his blue eyes looking to you with tender concern but also the last bit of restraint he had in him.

"I am." You said as you pushed yourself down on him slightly causing him to groan.

Gwayne could wait no longer and therefore he lined himself up at your entrance and gently he begun to penetrate you, sliding into your wet cunt slowly.

Your back arched at the feeling of him filling you, he stilled, with only part of himself in you.

"More." You whined out in a demand as you waited for him to fill you completely.

"Patient, princess. Please- I do not wish to be spent so soon." Gwayne insisted, he had slowly begun to push into you. Your legs would soon tighten around his waist, forcing him to put the rest of himself in. A moan came from the both of you as he would soon begin to move slowly.

"Gods, you're so tight." He groaned as he slowly thrusted in and out of you at a slow rate, doing his best not to spill himself inside of you this early.

Gwayne would allow his thumb to return to your swollen bulb, rubbing it softly as he continued to fuck you at a slow and passionate rate. Despite the slow thrust he pushed deep into your warm velvet walls each time, enjoying the feeling of you squeezing his entire length.

Gwayne would continue at this slow rate as you cried out, soon lewd sounds of your wetness would fill the room mixed with your moans.

"I want to be on top." You pleaded, his hips stilled with hesitation. "Please." you begged.

Gwayne hesitated, but even he could not resist. He pulled out of you slowly before allowing his body to fall onto the bed. You wasted no time climbing on top of him and taking his length in your hand. Carefully you lowered your hips onto him.

"Fuck." Gwayne would groan at the sight of you above him. The vision of a Targaryen princess nude above him, as your hips begun to feverishly bounce on his cock. It took everything in him to not spill himself in you at this very moment.

"Princess, please." He pleaded his hands grabbing on your waist to try and slow you down but it was no use, you used him. Moving your hips quickly as you looked to him.

"Hold on, uncle. I'm almost there." You would insisted in a moan as you continued, the feeling of him throbbing inside of you as you fucked yourself on him was enough to let out a cry of pleasure.

"Please get off . . . "He begged, "I shouldn't . . . not inside of you." He insisted more as he tried to steady your hips, though as you moved he relented.

Gwayne could not hold himself back any longer, his fingers dug into your flesh as he came deep inside you. You continued as he filled you with his warm seed. Allowing yourself to fuck every last drop inside of you, peeking your own orgasm that caused Gwayne to grit his teeth. You would roll your hips over him, riding out your high before falling helplessly on the bed next to him. His seed spilling onto your plush thighs.

Gwayne panted as he had looked over to you with soft affection. "I'll have the maester make you moon tea in the morning." he insisted as you looked over to him with a small smile.

"Perhaps if you seed me with your child mother would be forced to marry me to you." You offered looking to him next to you in the bed.

"Or she would have my head." he offered back.

When morning came you were nearly limping as you joined Daeron at the breakfast table, he seemed somewhat restless as he picked at the eggs on his plate.

"There you are." He declared looking to you with dark shadows surrounding his eyes.

"You look like shit." You declared to him with no one else around, he looked to you with somewhat of a resenting look.

"Yeah, well if you're going to fuck our uncle again could you at least keep it down." Daeron declared.

You froze at his comment, you were going to muster up some kind of denial but Daeron spoke again.

"My chambers are on the other side of Uncle Gwaynes." He informed you.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

What if when Nyra gets crowned, she has a crown made for Jace? His wife could help him get ready for the coronation (I’m talking bathing, hair, dressing, everything). Maybe it’s to show him how serious she is about him being her heir

When I saw this picture (not my edit, idk who made it), I had to write something

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’The prince’s bath is ready, Princess,’’ one of the maids informed you, coming to the table where you had been breaking your fast. ‘’Does the prince needs us to assist him? I will call a male servant.’’ 

You thanked her for the bath, then shook your head. ‘’That won’t be necessary,’’ you replied. ''And leave the towels on the chair.''

''Yes, Princess. Should I have his morning meal brought to his chamber? He must break his fast before the coronation, her Grace said.'' 

You glance at the bed in the distance, seeing Jacaerys' sleeping form under the covers. He had difficulty falling asleep last night, his nerves making him restless, so you let him sleep longer. The coronation wasn't until late morning. 

''I will see with him after his bath. I'll send someone to the kitchens.'' 

The maid nodded, then left. 

After you finished your meal, you went to the bed and gently woke your husband, caressing his messy hair. It always baffled you how all over the place they get during his sleep. You pressed a lingering soft kiss to his soft cheek. ‘’It’s time to wake, my love.’’ 

As you expected, Jacaerys grumbled sleepily and pressed his face deeper into his pillow. 

You stifled a smile, finding him endearing when he was acting like a child in the morning. On other days, you would have joined him for another hour of sleep, but you couldn’t allow yourself that luxury today. You needed to prepare for the day you’ve all been waiting for: Rhaenyra reclaiming her seat and — officially — becoming the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. 

‘’Your bath is ready. Come.’’ You stood, knowing he’ll try to pull you with him if you stayed seated on the bed. 

Jacaerys reluctantly dragged himself out of bed. He sleepily followed you to the bathing area, his eyes still heavy with sleep and his curls sticking out in all the places. He looked adorable in his groggy state. 

Like a toddler running after his mama, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. ‘’You left me alone in bed,’’ he complained, his voice still raspy from his sleep, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. ‘’It was cold without you.’’ 

A smile curved on your lips, and you leaned into your husband’s embrace. His lips skimmed lightly over the sensitive skin of your neck. ‘’Cold? I find that difficult to believe, my love. You were wrapped in a blanket with the fire blazing in the hearth.’’

‘’Still cold,’’ he grumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to the spot where your shoulder met your neck, making you shiver slightly. ‘’I prefer having you in my arms to keep me warm.’’

‘’And I would prefer if you disrobed and sat in the bathtub so I can wash your hair.’’ 

Jacaerys huffed, then released you and started to remove his night tunic. He left it in a lump on the floor, then stepped into the hot bath. 

You sat on the stool right by the tub and filled the pitcher with water to pour it over his hair. ''Cover your eyes.'' 

He closed them, letting the water fall down his face instead of shielding his eyes with his hand. 

You lathered soap in your hands and Jacaerys sighed as you began to wash his hair, finding it soothing how your fingers massaged his scalp. Before he was wed to you, he had servants who assisted him and they were nowhere near as gentle as you. 

''Cover your eyes again.'' 

You poured more water, washing down the sods before applying oils and brushing them with a comb. It was better to brush curly hair when wet than dry. Jacaerys had learned that the hard way as a child...

 Once his hair was oiled and brushed, you began to wash his back and shoulders, the hot water cascading over the light dust of freckles. He hummed pleasantly, enjoying the feel of your slender fingers rubbing the soap into his skin.

‘’I still cannot believe Mother had a crown made for me. Heirs don't wear crowns,’’ Jacaerys said, his nerves making him pick at his nails. 

When the King named Rhaenyra his heir, there was no crown given to her. He only organized a grand ceremony at court to publicly declare the princess  as his rightful successor. 

But Rhaenyra wanted to make things different. 

''Her Grace remembers your fear that a lowborn with white hair might lay claim on the Iron Throne after her passing. By giving you a crown in front of all the Lords, Ladies and other nobles, she wishes to remind you —and everyone — that you are the future rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and that no one can take your place. Being a dragonlord or having Valyrian features does not grant anyone a claim to the throne. You are the heir because you are the son of the Queen.'' 

Absent-mindedly, Jacaerys continued picking at his fingers, drawing blood out. He was more nervous now than he had been on your wedding night. His mind was going through all the possible and impossible scenarios of the coronation... What if something went wrong? What if he tripped in front of everyone? What if the remaining supporters of the Greens tried to sabotage the ceremony?

''Quit doing that,'' you scolded, taking his hand from him. ''A prince cannot receive his crown with blood under his nails.'' You took a brush and scrubbed the blood and dirt around and under his nails. 

He apologized. 

''You're nervous, it's alright,’’ you said, your eyes soft and understanding.  

He sighed and reached over the tub to take the sponge. ‘’You don't need to do everything, you know. I can wash myself.’’ He lathered soap on a sponge and scrubbed his skin while you continued with his nails. 

Once he was thoroughly clean, Jacaerys dried himself with a warm towel, then slipped on his robe. He never wore one before you came into his life, claiming it was for women, but he loved to lounge in one after his bath. The silk was soft on his skin and light. You had one made for him for his eight and ten nameday — a dark and rich red color with an embroidered dragon at the back. 

You made him sit at your vanity table. It was unusual for him. The vanity was your spot. He enjoyed watching you sitting there in the mornings, picking jewelry and scented oils, or simply brushing your hair. Sometimes, he would even offer to brush them for you.

You combed through his damp hair, twirling his curls around your fingers to make them more defined. ''You're gonna be the most handsome prince the court has ever seen,'' you declared, tucking a last curl behind his ear, showing off his beautiful face. 

Though he lacked the classic Valyrian traits, replaced by a perfect reflection of the former Lord Commander of the City Watch, the gods had blessed him with the gift of beauty. If you hadn't been already married to him, you would have been jealous of the woman he called his wife.

 Jacaerys rolled his eyes and pulled you down on his lap. From this close, you could see every freckle across his nose and cheeks. His lips were a slightly darker pink, stained from the cherries he just ate. You couldn't resist kissing them. 

The kiss was brief, causing the prince to pout.  

You gave him another kiss, this one slightly longer, then stood when he tried to chase after your lips for more. You knew that game. You'll never be ready on time if you let him get what he wants. 

''Later,'' you promised, lifting his chin and pulling down a single strand of hair, curling it around your finger. 

He'll look glorious with his crown.

—

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[starogeorgina]

𝐊𝐞𝐩𝐚

Paring: Daemon Targaryen × reader, Harwin Strong x reader, Criston Cole x reader

Warnings: Swearing, smut, child birth

1.03

You blink away unshed tears as you stare up at Ser Harwin; the look on his face was earth-shattering. No traces of anger or bitterness could be detected on his handsome face; the softness in his eyes made you feel nothing but guilt. You should never have believed the rumors, given into your husband's taunting or gone near Criston Cole.

You’re unaware that you’re crying until Harwin wipes them away with the pads of his thumb. “Prince Daemon told me your news; congratulations, princess.” He leans forward and kisses your forehead, and in a quiet voice, he says, “He also told me what he said to you. I wish I’d known sooner.”

Ser Harwin wasn’t a fool; he knew his beloved princess’s outburst of believing the rumors surrounding him and Princess Rhaenyra being true hadn’t come from thin air, but he had no idea Daemon was the one behind it. The Targaryen prince thrived in chaos, but after causing so much damage, the knight was grateful to be away from the keep for some time; otherwise, he might have done something to get himself executed.

“Do you forgive me?”

Harwin sighs, “There’s nothing to forgive. It was a misunderstanding.”

Pouting, you shake your head. “I should never have doubted you... henujagon īlva, valzȳrys.” (Leave us, husband.)

You wait until you hear Daemon leave; he didn’t need to be involved in your conversation, and you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist if he was within earshot. You take Harwin’s large hand in yours and say, “I love my husband; he’s the other half of me. Targaryens are made to burn together, but I love you too. I don’t know how to explain it; it’s a different kind of love. Since I was a girl, I always knew I’d marry Daemon, regardless of how I felt, but I chose to be with you. You make me feel safe and—”

“What is it you’re trying to tell me?” Harwin wipes away another fallen tear. “I’ve memorized each time you’ve confessed your love to me, which is how I know something is wrong. I can see it in your eyes.”

“I don’t know whose baby this is. I forgot to drink moon tea after the last time we lay together.”

His blue eyes fill with tears. “Prince Daemon will be the father.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your heart aches a little when Harwin hugs you; he was a good man. A far better person than you, Daemon, or Criston. He wasn’t selfish, violent, or entitled. You only wish you’d never questioned his loyalty to begin with.

“There’s something else I need to tell you.”

—

As the months passed, your body changed, and the gorgeous gowns you had made could no longer hide how large your bump had gotten. Rhaenyra often thought you were carrying more than one baby when your bump first started to swell, but now you were convinced she was right.

Daemon smooths his hand gently over the fabric of your dress, feeling the baby kick beneath. You were comfortable laying on your left side with multiple pillows fluffed around you to keep you in that position. Your husband lay behind you with his face nuzzling into the side of your neck.

“Have you spoken much with Ser Harwin?”

“No,” you say, feeling your lip tremble slightly. “Perhaps it is for the best; the less he is near during my pregnancy, the less people will talk.”

Daemon kisses your cheek. “The baby could look exactly like us, and the Greens would still gossip. I suspect the same will happen with Rhaenyra as soon as she has an heir.”

Your sister and her husband, Ser Laenor, had gone to visit various houses in the realm on behalf of your father, who was too ill to travel the distance himself. Although they had gone on dragonback, a large number of knights, including Ser Harwin, had been sent to protect them. When you confessed your antics with Cole to Ser Harwin, he was mad for a while but insisted he still wanted to be with you; he just needed some time.

“And what if the baby doesn’t look like us?” You knew no matter what, you’d love and protect your child fiercely, but you needed reassurance from Daemon. “I’ve been beyond foolish; I’ve given them the opportunity to make my child’s life miserable before they are even born.”

“I will cut out the tongues of anyone who dares question the legitimacy of our child. Any baby you have will be an extension of you; it would be impossible for me not to love them.” He rubs his hand along your stomach again. “This is my son or daughter growing inside you. Nothing anyone says will change that.”

—

“Princess, it’s time to push again.”

“I can’t! I can’t!” You sob, clutching onto the bed sheets tightly. The pain was overwhelming; you were convinced this is what dying felt like.

“Push!”

The midwives help guide you through the last few pushes until your daughter finally enters the room. She is placed on your chest, and you sob with happiness, “She’s perfect—oh fuck.”

Your daughter is quickly carried away to be cleaned up as the midwife pushes your legs open again. “Time to do this second time, princess.”

—

Daemon hums while gently rocking your daughter Daella to sleep, while your son Gaemon suckles at your breast. They were only a few hours old, but it already felt like you'd spent a lifetime loving them.

“Perhaps when you are feeling up to it, we can pick dragon eggs for the baby’s.”

You smile and say, “That would be nice.”

With Syrax having laid another clutch of dragon eggs, you were on your way to the dragon pit to pick one while being accompanied by your husband and sworn protector, but before you could leave the courtyard, your waters broke. Ser Harwin immediately picked you up and carried you back to your chambers, while Daemon sent for the maester and midwives.

“There, there,” Daemon says before gently placing your daughter into the crib next to your bed.

You smile down at her. Daella shares your pale complexion; her silver hair and the shade of her purple eyes were an exact match for yours. Gaemon got almost all his features from you, like his sister; his skin was pale and his hair silver, except his eyes were a dark brown.

“I think he’s had his feed,” you say when Gaemon stops feeding and his eyelids slowly start to close.

Daemon takes him from your arms so you can readjust your nightgown. He kisses the baby on the forehead. “They really are perfect.”

—

Sitting underneath the weirwood tree, you smile as Daella attempts to walk along one of the thick roots sticking out of the ground, with your loyal knight Ser Harwin right behind her, ready to catch her the second she slips. Gaemon lays back, his head resting against your legs, as you read a story about dragons out loud. Both eggs had hatched in the cradle, and your children were now getting to the age where they understood how powerful and magical dragons are.

“Careful, princess,” Harwin says softly. “Slow down before you fall.”

Daella grins up at the knight before jumping onto a different root. It wouldn’t be long before curiosity got the better of her, and she attempted to climb the tree.

When screeching comes from the distance, Gaemon points to the sky and says, “Mama, look! It’s kepa!”

You look up and see the Blood Wyrm flying in the direction of the dragonpit. Daemon always made a point of returning from dragon riding before supper time so he could dine with his family. When you lower your gaze from the sky, you are met with the cold gaze of Ser Criston Cole. You often notice the knight observing your son and daughter from a distance, but he makes no attempt to interact with them.

Although Cole would never admit it, you had a feeling he would risk his life for them just as Daemon and Harwin would.

—

Harwin takes one of the pebbled nipples into his mouth while you lean over him, your hands pressing against his chest. Daemon kisses the back of your neck, occasionally nipping at your sensitive skin with his teeth as he thrusts into you from behind. Over time, the three of you had come to an agreement that when the time came and you wished to have another baby, you and Harwin couldn’t fuck as you normally would, eliminating any chances of him getting you pregnant since you wouldn’t be drinking moon tea. But you still wanted to be intimate with Harwin, and your ever-devoted husband came up with an idea.

Daemon’s voice is cocky as he says, “So, Ser Harwin, how do you feel about our princess taking what she wants from us at the same time?”

Harwin grins. “Do you think you could take both of us?”

“Yes, I want you both.”

“Greedy girl!” Daemon smacks your ass.

Your heart races with anticipation at the thought of having both of them inside you at the same time. You're used to making love to them both, but this would feel different—more intimate, more primal. Harwin and Daemon had mutual respect for one another, but they mainly bonded over how much they loved your little family.

Your husband chuckles softly, his warm breath caressing your ear. “You’ll get what you desire, my love. I’ve bet you’ve thought about this plenty of times before, haven’t you?”

Feeling your cheeks heat up, you nod.

A princess desperate to feel her husband and lover fill her up at the same time.

Daemon slowly withdraws his shaft from your cunny, leaving you aching for more. He sits down on the bed beside Harwin, but before you have the chance to move over to his lap, the knight hooks his hands under your thighs and pulls you up until you are hovering over his face. Not wasting time, Harwin starts flicking at your sensitive clit with his tongue.

Daemon smirks as he listens to your whine. He had already ‘prepared’ both your holes before Harwin joined you in the bedchamber. After coming apart on Harwin’s lips, Daemon gently pulls the small cock-shaped object from your anus, then pulls you onto his lap so you are facing him, and slides his cock into your cunny again.

He leans back and pulls you down with him, gripping your shoulders and spreading them while Harwin readjusts himself behind you. The thought of having them both causes your clit to throb, “Please.”

Harwin guides his thick cock to where you’re aching for him. With a gentle nudge, he pushes past your resistance and enters your tight hole. You gasp as he fills you completely. The sensation of having them both inside you is foreign and exhilarating. Harwin begins to rock his hips gently, slowly pulling them out before pushing them back in again, while Daemon thrusts upwards at a harsher pace.

“How does it feel? Daemon asks, pinching your nipple between his fingers. “Good as you imagined?”

“So, so good.”

Your mind becomes hazy with pleasure when one of them starts rubbing fast circles on your clit. You come apart, squeezing both of them tightly. Harwin shoots his seed inside you, then Daemon follows shortly after, coating your cunny in his seed, which he will hopefully take.

The knight slowly pulls out, then brushes your sweaty hair out of your face and kisses you deeply. Daemon smirks, “Take your time catching your breath, my good knight, as we will be here all night.”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

I've been reading a lot of Korean isekai webcomics lately and given me an idea of being Malleus or Leona fiance who he didn't even love at all ( liked he thinks they are being too clingy or something like that but in reality they care about them and try help them out with daily tasks and try to bring something interesting to lighten the mood or the very least lift up their mood to at least feel better )

and reader taken over the body of said fiance and just like " I don't wanna get killed, or die, I have magic to help me out so I'll just run away from here " and just left him to venture out in the world maybe settle in somewhere outside of the kingdom to somewhere else in a small village to settle, and when they realize that how much their former finance care for them and realize they are no longer in the castle and looking for them

And what do they feel when they see her ( fae or beastwoman ) with a human male who made her really happy when they found her

Manwha Mistreated Married Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

It's downright unfair to be the only one trying in this arranged marriage setting. Not to mention the lack of care when it comes to hiding their growing interest in this Yuu character. Why shouldn’t you be allowed happiness with your own human, far away from the unforgiving environment of their castle? What’s worse is that they will come running and it is not to congratulate you:

Leona Kingscholar

“What the-”

When he finally does get around to actually doing the paperwork of being a prince

He finds that he’s been sent a constant barrage of divorce material 

And then he’s reminded that he’s been married off to…someone he can’t even be bothered to remember

But he looks at the official Royal portraits of you 

And goes to search 

He wanted to see what he was working with

“Uh your majesty, they’ve been gone for over a year now.”

A year?! Already

So he reaches into the back of his mind to the memories of you 

Reporting how much of his work you did for him or how you gifted him some new pillows as a gift 

It makes him feel itchy 

So he begins an arduous search for you

Something that takes longer than he expects 

Eventually finding you working on a farm 

Clearly making goo-goo eyes at the pathetic buff farm hand

So he decides to pop your bubble, revealing that technically still married

“Oh, I know that. But they’re waitin’ on you to finalize the divorce, y’know?”

Drats

There’s nothing more he hates than watching you look longingly at each other despite being so close

But he can’t bring himself to sign his name

Preferring to instead fight for his ownership of your heart

And if he has to get dirty he doesn’t mind

It just means he’s one step closer to making you return

He wants you to come running back to him

To hang off his every word as he does now

To kiss his knuckles and tell him how good of a husband he’s been

Malleus Draconia

“I’ve misjudged you…I’d appreciate if you returned home now.”

It's a wake-up call to have you laugh in his face when he says this

Usually, any protests would be met with his immense strength and magical prowess

But too bad his grandmother set him up with someone of near equal standing even worse better you seem to have been training

It was a past time for you as you moved into a non-descript village

All to retreat from a spouse obsessed with the first human to express any interest in him

Now forget all the times you attempted to converse with him or let him ramble about gargoyles

Only to be ignored or spat at for imitating his ‘child of man’

Well if he liked them so much he shouldn’t have minded when you wordlessly took a hiatus from the kingdom

No one seems to miss you, your presence is filled by the buzz of a human being around

But when that human leaves for home or turns in to achieve that sleep they so desperately need

He misses you

Finds even he unexpectedly snaps when his best friend reaches to sit in your chair

What strange magic…for him to wish you were present

He finds you easily 

And is surprised when you wretch in disgust when he arrives

And if you’ve taken a guardian role to some poor orphan child they copy the behavior

Constantly reminding him of your supposed dislike 

He’s not fond of this version of you at all

So he lingers like a dog kicked outside

Watching from a close distance as you live your new life

Sparking something in him as he finds you absolutely alluring at every angle

Suddenly that human’s pleas for his return become the static of something irritating

He needed you to come back and if a distraction was what was stopping you then so be it

But you’re so empathetic they might prove themselves useful as the king’s bargaining chip

[sleepiedahlia]

HIS TAIL

FEATURING: LEVIATHAN,SATAN,BELPHIE,BARBATOS

TW: both smut and fluff but mostly fluff! tell me if i missed anything!

HIS WINGS|HIS TAIL ( YOU ARE HERE)

LEVIATHAN

-surprisingly his tail has a lot more scales then the rest of his body but he sheds every few months to make sure his scales are healthy and I also think he might be able to grow it back..?

-but his tail is very long and smooth scales so when you touch it your hand glides over his tail with ease

-he doesn’t use his tail as a defense mechanism as much as satan does because 1. He doses leave his room and 2.he’s really not a fighter,but if he did use his tail for defense he’ll hind of lift up his tail and wave it around slightly as warning but if someone doesn’t listen he will smack the living hell out of the with his tail

-his most sensitive sensitive area is the base of his tail even though his whole tail is sensitive but if you Touch by the base of his tail he shakes a little bit but he does like it! But during cuddling he wraps his tail around your waist or leg and the Same goes for in bed but he’ll be slightly more tight and he definitely uses it to help you out when you need it ;)

SATAN

-for Satan showing his tail to you when he is not angry is a sign of love deeper then anyone could imagine

-but his tail has very rough scales so it does make it harder to Touch because it’s also kinda spiky as well

-when he gets angry his tail becomes a weapon and it hurts when it Hits you smack dab in the fase…yeah that will leave…a few marks,when he tries to warn someone on the rare occasion if he doesn’t already try to kill them the first time they did something his tail wraps around his leg tightly almost enough to go through his skin and most of time he tries to use it to kill lucifer

-his Most sensitive are is the tip of his tail and when you touch it he’ll pull away pretty quickly but once he realizes you mean no harm to him he’ll let you touch it as much of you want!

-he does like to have it wrapped around you a lot and especially when you two read together but only in private because he wouldn’t have it out in public ever only if he was about to make someone have a 504 error and never be seen again

BELPHIE

-belphie has a cow like tail but it's not soft though it's more rough then it looks but it doesn’t stop him from sleeping with it

-he mostly uses it to keep you as his cuddle buddy for longer then you wanted but that’s actually how he first showed it you, he had his tail wrapped around your waist

-but after he realized he was doing that it was too late and he did that every time you cuddled or slept with him:)

-defense wise he doesn’t use it all but if he did he would also try to use to kill Lucifer and put him six feet under or someone took his pillow and he wants revenge which also might end in a 504 error…just don’t cross him…

-his most sensitive place is the tip of his tail before it goes into a big fluff ball,if you do touch there he’ll just wrap his tail around your hand tightly and that all that really happens but if it where someone else beware he might strangle them to death

-in bed I think he would just use it to hold you down and he would definitely use the fluff part of his tail to mess with your nipples a little bit or your clit

BARBATOS

-barbatos tail has a slight slimy feeling to it and has more of a sea serpent shape to his tail like levi

-but he uses his tail like another arm he can use it for anything and since he has and extra part to his tail he could definitely hold you down and grab else at the same time

-the only time he’d ever use his tail is when someone tried to do something to the prince,I swear with his tail he could take like 4 demons out at the same time and he also has good tail reflex’s so he can tell when something’s near him and if something’s thrown at him he can smack it away or grab it with his tail but he could also probably use his tail like a spear also

-honestly I don’t think he has any sensitive spots but if I had to chose a specific place it would be the extra part on his tail and if someone or you were to touch it he will just ask you to stop but if it’s you he won’t say anything and just let’s you touch it

-in bed he could possibly use the second part on his tail to stimulate you while he’s fucking you into the mattress but if your into gagging he would probably use his tail as a gag for you if you wanted:)

@SLEEPIEDAHLIA

- PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK! BUT PLEASE ADD CREDIT IF YOU USED MINE AS A REFERENCE FOR A POST! PLEASE AND THANK YOU! -

[cyberkitty1]

connie x nailtech! fem reader

you were laying in your bed silently as rain tapped on your windows. serene and silent… until your phone started ringing you let it until it went silent. you sighed hugging your pillow tighter.

until your phone started ringing again, with a frustrated sigh you picked up your phone.”hello?” you said with a scratchy voice. “why you not answering the phone?” “because im sleeping? something you should also be doing instead of waking me up at-“ you look at your screen reading 3 am “ 3 am in the morning”

he sucks his teeth “didnt mean to wake you but drop the attitude” “again its 3 am im just tired, sorry” you sigh laying down.” “mmm all good i was the one that woke you up, im sorry”

“so why did you call?” you say yawning. “well i couldn’t sleep and i thought you’d be up” you hear him sigh loudly. “ fine come over” before you could say anything else you heard your front door being unlocked.

you hang up as you hear his steps near your door. “hey ma” “hey con” you watch as he takes off his sweater and puts his keys down climbing into bed next to you. “how was your day?” you ask as he burrows into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around you placing his hands at the small of your back.

“boring, i missed you. so does prince, why dont you just come live with us?” you hear the pout in his hushed voice. “ connie we have discussed this before, we are still early in our relationship and we both need our own spaces. i can sleep over tomorrow night if you’d like?”

“yes please” he says in a baby voice. you laugh at him. “ how was your day ma?” you take a deep breath “ i did 5 clients and 12 sets of press ons, really busy” he peppers kisses all over your neck “proud of you” you hum in acknowledgment as you both drift off to sleep.

—————

im in love with connie 🙁

this is gonna be like a mini series thing im working on. trust guys i have stuff up my sleeve 😛🤭

prince is his dog btw

banner from: @corgimyun

[etfrin]

↳ ❝NSFW Alphabets | Mike Schmidt❞ˎˊ-

Mike Schmidt x female! Reader

| masterlist | bc: @cafekitsune | request |

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

— would bring you towels and clean you up, a glass of water if your throat gets sore from moaning so much, and cuddle while praising you softly.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

— his eyes because you compliment them so much (HIS EYES ARE SO PRETTY AHHH) but for you, it's your hands, loves to hold them during sex or just in general. It's very comforting for him.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

— loves to cum on your pussy, just something about your folds being smeared with his hot seed gets him going, it's sexy for him.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self-explanatory)

— would steal your panties to jerk off at work (like in the pizzeria while he's bored out of his mind staring at the cameras)

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

— He had a couple of flings and that's it, his experience is average, body count is perhaps six. So it's a complete 50/50.

F= Favorite position

— RIDING. He gives me a pillow prince vibes sometimes he just wants to lay down as you take your pleasure while riding his cock without him doing much of the work. Also because he loves to suck your tits and see them bounce as you ride his cock so well.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

— hmm, I don't think Mike is the type to be goofy during sex but sometimes he would say something that would make you cackle and he doesn't even know what made you laugh so much.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

— every couple of months he trims.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

— would take his time while fucking you. His way of fucking is sensual, he's relieving so much of his stress while he's thrusting into your cunt. He's making sure to do it nice and slow, taking his time, until his muscles are completely relaxed when he cums.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

— mike would masturbate whenever you're not near, he usually masturbates at his work when he's missing you so much. He takes his phone out and pulls out a picture of yours he had taken or carries one of your used panties on him at all times.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

— edging, bondage (him getting tied), breeding kink, overestimation (receiving and giving), praising kink (receiving), cockwarming. He's so submissive and breedable. Tie him up and ride him until he's shooting loads after loads all the while he's begging that he can't cum anymore but his cock is hard and throbbing inside your walls. You reassure him while saying that a good boy could and would cum once again so who is he to deny you? Nobody, that's who.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

— bedroom or at his work (since it's an abandoned pizzeria who would care), on the days when Abby is in her school, he would fuck you all over the house, the kitchen, the couch, the floor, no place is safe.

M= Motivation (things that make them tick/turn-ons)

— your interactions with Abby. You would talk to her so sweetly even when she's too focused on her drawings. You coax her to talk and eat and just be so sweet and patient with her. You remind him of his family before everything. He wants to have a family with you and rest assured your cunt is gonna be filled tonight.

Honorable mentions: You holding his hand, you praising him or helping him with anything in general. He has been alone for so long, trying to keep everything on his shoulders, even you bringing him breakfast in bed is enough, he would fall for you harder and fuck you even better.

N= No (turn offs or absolutely won’t do)

— anything that's too messy like watersports.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

— he would be so messy while eating pussy. He would suck at your clit too harshly, nipping at the sensitive swollen bud while his digits thrust into your walls. He takes his fingers out and licks them clean off your juices. He would lav at your pussy but he would always give special attention to your clit, he loves it as it swells up and how sensitive it can get so quickly and you have tears falling because you're just so overwhelmed and he repeats the process again and again because something about keep sucking your clit just does it for him.

When you're sucking him off though, he's so gentle about it. In complete contrast while he's eating you. He murmurs your encouragements and he strokes your hair. Giving your mouth shallow thrusts, making sure you don't gag, and warning you before he would cum, letting you decide whether he should cum in your mouth or on your face.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

— unless you beg him to go fast or you're the one controlling the pace, he fucks into you in a sensual, lazy manner. Sex is less about the sexual pleasure for him and more about letting his stress go. Letting off his tense muscles while each thrust just makes him melt in you.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

— unless he's desperate, like in the mornings minutes before he has to drop Abby to school, he isn't much for quickies. Would rather just take his time, if he can't have you at the moment then he would wait until he can.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

— mike is willing to experiment, just not that much. He's very vanilla.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

— since his pace as I mentioned would be pretty darn slow, he could last for hours, he would ignore your pleas to cum with an annoyed sush or his palm over your mouth so your begging is muffled and doesn't influence him. And since he could last for hours, he wouldn't do more than two rounds of sex in one day. He would keep his cock inside after finishing just so he can slowly fuck you again when he stops feeling like jelly.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

— oh! He would use a vibrator on you, especially while eating you. Him sucking on your clit while the vibrator is at its highest setting. He only does it when Abby is having sleepovers with Vennesa (I have obviously decided to ignore the canon events of the movie roll with it) You would be mewling and moaning so much that the neighbors would complain the next morning but it doesn't matter to either of you, not when you squirt on his face and he laps your cum as it flows down past the vibrator.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

— not much of a teaser but would love getting teased when he's in a much more submissive mood. Just keep giving him praises, love bites, and body worship him, he would be such putty in your hands if you knew what to do. He can even cum untouched just from being teased.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

— HE'S A GROANER, HE MOANS AND WHIMPERS AND WHINES. he's a loser so it's canon, he tries his best to stop his sounds, biting his lower until it bleeds, or stuffing his face into the crook of your neck, his mouth onto your pulse, sucking the skin to stop his whines or stuffing his face into the pillow to stop a whimper.

W= Wild card (random sin canon of any sort)

– he had a threesome once with you and Vanessa. He hadn't touched her, not even a kiss, too busy giving you attention. He would fuck your ass as Venassa fucks you with a strap-on. He would get jealous but he cum so hard after seeing the two of you kiss. His ex-crush with his girlfriend, never in life that he thought that would be possible.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

— average girth but a bit tall. Six inches with a brown mushroom tip. Uncut.

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

— i wouldn't say he has a high sex drive but at least thrice a week, you're getting dick down by him.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

— after aftercare, it wouldn't take him much longer to sleep, five mins max, he's just so relaxed, he's gonna get the best sleep ever with you in his arms.

A/N : make sure to reblog if you make it till the end!

[moonyasnow]

Seeing Green.

How they react to an S/O who tries to hold back bad jealousy issues

CHARACTERS : Leona, Azul, Kalim

CONTENT : Intense jealousy from Reader, Reader has thoughts of murder (Leona's part), unhealthy behaviors (Leona's part), Reader is implied to be insecure, who am I kidding almost all of them are insecure

Jealousy was an ugly thing, you knew…and even more so within you. It was ugly, and burning, and scared, and desperate, and bloodlust. It teemed within you, coursing through your veins as surely as your blood, seeming to radiate from your painfully throbbing heart and spread like miasma constricting your lungs and out through your nose in heavy, laborious breaths.

Sometimes you were afraid he could smell it on you...

Leona

Leona Kingscholar, the overlooked, never-desired, second prince of the Sunset Savannah was no stranger to jealousy…no, envy was more like it, what he yearned for seemingly always just out of reach no matter how far he extended his hand. But Jealousy and Envy— desire to keep near what is yours, and desire for what someone else's possesses— are two sides to the same coin.

So then, when he saw the signs of jealousy, he instantly recognized it for what it was.

After a summons from his brother and sister-in-law back to the Sunset Savannah for some important international relations event he 'simply couldn't miss!' he dragged you with him as his living emotional support pillow. But as always happened at those events, something he'd grown used to and been expecting, he had 'suitors' crawling all over him.

Second Prince with a bane of a Signature Spell and a bad reputation or no, he was still royalty, and quite handsome. But even if the latter wasn't the case, nothing will ever stop social climbers. He knew none of them could care less about him as a person, only his title, and he had no interest in any of them.

Even though you knew this, the pit of dread in your stomach still made itself known. You didn't know any of the people who came up to the two of you— had no idea if, if given the opportunity, they might actually have any chance of stealing him away from you. But that didn't seem to matter. Because as soon as one of them came up and began to flirt with him, in the open, right next to you, his partner… Your mind roiled and screamed and wanted them dead. You wanted their head on a platter, wanted to see them shoved out a 10-story window, dig your nails into the sides of their face and force them to look at you and tremble while you asked them what they were doing, acting so familiar with your lover as though you weren't even there.

He noticed the shift in energy beside him as quick as it appeared, glancing to the corner of his eye to see you gritting your teeth, taking long, steady breaths and trying with all your might to hide the look of disgust, rage and anguish on your face. He understood instantly, and didn't even try to stop his grin.

To think his little Herbivore, usually so nice and sweet and docile, had such an ugly side to them. One that was just for him. That he alone had the sway to turn an unsure and timid thing like yourself into such a monster. But he couldn't say it was a sight he hated. He was the only this possessiveness of yours was directed toward. He, and no one else, was that special to you. He, and no one else, was desired by you.

He would exploit it. It was for him after all, wasn't it? So that feeling of yours was his to do with as he pleased. He wouldn't go out of his way, of course, who do you take him for? Instead going out of his way not to go out of his way: letting the touch of an overeager suitor linger on his shoulders instead of shrugging them off, returning their gaze for a second too long, pretending he didn't notice you biting your lip harder in distress. The way you clung to him so tightly after you retired to his room for the night, curling your body so closely around him, as though scared he'd disappear if you let go, was too sweet not to. You held him like he was precious. Priceless. More important than anything. It was a feeling he couldn't help but chase after the first time he felt it because of you.

It made him feel so powerful. Satiated something inside him with roots so deep he could never pull it out. But for a moment, this jealousy of yours made him forget it. You recognized his greatness, after all: enough to be scared of him being taken away from you…

…You recognized him.

But…when you woke him up in the middle of the night, crying quietly into his chest, he knew why. He took it too far.

Would he want to be more straightforward with you if he could? Possibly. Was it cruel? Most definitely. But 'honest' and 'nice' were two words that had never been used to describe him. He wasn't capable of that, so why even try? Besides, you knew what you signed up for, being with him.

…At least, he hoped so.

Azul

A youth spent overlooked, insulted, bullied and outcast from the peers one is supposed to be connecting with, for Azul Ashengrotto, resulted in a very low sense of self worth. And with it, a deeply engrained fear that he wasn't good enough to truly keep the things he cherished. At least, not if he acted like himself. While for him, that most often manifested in a fear of you rejecting him; seeing a hint of weakness in him and deciding to 'cut your losses' and run, he was also not a stranger to jealousy.

You wanted to cling to him, be closer to him, hold him in a vice grip and never let go. But you were afraid to… Scared that your hold might be suffocating to him. For while you loved the intelligent, dedicated and hard-working side of him, it was also the one you feared might discard you, write you off a distraction, if he knew of your desperation for him. So then…when you saw Jade and Floyd so seemingly comfortable and easily able to take his attention even from his work, alarm bells rung in your head. You tried to soothe yourself with the fact that it was just because they were childhood friends, but that seemed to have the opposite effect. They were closer to him than you. You feared you would never be that close to him. That if it came to it, he would choose them over you in a heartbeat. It seemed to crush you from the inside out.

But you hid it. Experience had taught you that being clingy and jealous, much less showing others those feelings, never lead to anything good. You swallowed it and put it in a bottle and hoped he would never notice. Hoped you could wait until you were alone to spill your tears.

One day when you came to his office to spend time with him, your time together was briefly interrupted by Jade, coming to deliver papers of some kind. You expected him to leave quickly afterwards, watching and waiting for him to make his exit. But he met your eyes briefly, then began to make small talk with Azul. With the two focused on each other, you, at his side, felt like a fly on the wall. A ghost. A third wheel, even in the presence of your lover. Your jealousy reared its ugly head with a passion. The pressure within you only kept building until Jade had finally left.

It was then that he saw you, almost trembling, trying and failing to hide the tears welling up in your eyes and shifting infinitesimally closer to him, hands twitching to close the distance, breathing like your lungs were filled with stones, yet biting your lip hard in a by-now futile attempt to hide it. At first, he began to panic, mind spinning with thoughts of what he could have done to upset you so. But then it hit him— this only started after your time together was interrupted.

When he realized that, he realized the probable cause for your distress.

You feared losing his attention, losing his love, losing him, didn't you? You were scared someone else would come along and make him forget about you. He understood. Seven, he hated how much he understood… So much that it felt uncomfortable, seeing his own inner ugliness reflected back at him.

Having gathered evidence, he decided to confront you with it in order to ask you about the issue, like a detective would a crime-suspect. He wanted to believe it was because he knew you would lie if asked without proof. But it was just what he knew; his methods of dealing with any and all confrontation having come from a history of needing to appear always calm, detached and in-control.

When he'd confirmed his suspicions and learned of your fear, he feared he might start crying. Wether from sadness that his lover could understand that fear, or from relief at not being the only one.

You expected him to be disgusted with the extent of your jealousy, your urge to be possessive and forbid him to look at anyone but you. But next thing you knew, he, who so often shied away from even your touch, had you wrapped gently in his arms.

From then on he let you act a bit more possessive of him. He knew what would soothe his own anxiety, and hoped that the same might soothe yours. He was still plagued with the dual fear that clinging too much might suffocate you, and that loosening his hold too much might see you slip from his grasp, so he couldn't bring himself to do it. Still, he let you cling to his arm. It made him flush with both smug pride and embarrassment at the same time, having you coiled around his arm in front of others, soothing his own insecurity as much as the twins' teasing tickled his defensive side.

But he still let you.

If he could still find you lovely even with that 'ugly' side to you, he reasoned…then perhaps…just hypothetically…you could see the same in him.

One day, maybe he would show you…

Kalim

Kalim Al-Asim, heir to the richest merchant family in the Scalding Sands, one of the richest families in the world, purely by his parents' design, has never known jealousy. All that he wished for, he got. Knowing the precarious position he was in, that an attempt could be made on his life at any moment, he never took all that he had for granted. He was grateful for it, even though his cheer might not make it readily apparent. Yet as he had never truly lost anything he deeply cherished, he wouldn't be familiar with the feelings that weighed you down.

Though that didn't mean he wouldn't notice if you weren't feeling well. He might not be able to accurately place the reasons behind it, but through experience gained from years and years of playing host at various parties— or perhaps just an older brother's instinct— he always noticed when someone was feeling low.

Kalim had always been a social butterfly, and you knew this well— better than almost anyone, in fact, partly due to that being how you met in the first place. He was mesmerizing, so in his element entertaining people at parties, or just in regular conversation, and seeing him shining so brightly and enjoying each second of life with such a passion only made you fall even deeper for him.

But unlike him, sharing didn't come as naturally to you. No matter how hard you tried to reason with yourself, say that him putting an arm around another's shoulder was only a friendly gesture, that you knew Kalim was just a naturally touchy person and it didn't mean he didn't still consider you his favorite, nothing would soothe the tempest that raged within you. Each of his smiles that you so adored, directed at someone that wasn't you, felt like poison stabbed into your gut. Every time he laughed at a comment or joke made by someone else, the world seemed to drain of color, bit by bit. No matter how much you loved— adored— him, those feelings kept coming back every second he wasn't sitting next to you, holding you, leaning on your shoulder and directing all his focus to you.

It felt inevitable, in your mind, that it would end with you being forgotten in favor of someone else. Someone funnier, someone smarter, someone happier, someone more confident, someone less anxious…someone better.

When you waded too deep into the turbulent waters and risked losing yourself to the whirlwind of your anxious, paranoid thoughts is when he would always find his way back to you again. He could always tell, like some intuitive feeling, that something was bothering you. He might not know why, since you didn't often tell him, but he didn't like seeing you like that: looking so sad and lost. Spending time worrying about what the cause could be would only be taking time away from what was actually important: making you feel better. So he did what he did best.

He came up next to you again, linking his arm through yours and rubbing your foreheads together, beginning to talk your ear off about something or other, having you try more of the feast and telling jokes to make you laugh. Your sweet laugh made his spirits soar even higher than before. And that just made him want to make you happy even more! Like a spiral of happiness.

And when, after everyone had left, you held him tighter, he held back just as tight, loving the heat of your entwined bodies curled up under the covers. You were holding a bit too tightly to be comfortable at times. But every time you recognized that and loosened your hold on him, he squeezed back tighter. It was alright, that's what he wanted to say. It was alright for you to hold him as tight as you needed.

After you eventually fell asleep, he kissed your forehead gently as you slept in his arms. He might not know the reason behind your sadness, but he'd always do whatever he could to make it go away. Nothing brought him greater joy than seeing yours. And the thought that his presence alone could soothe you made him so happy. He couldn't help himself and pressed more and more feather-light kisses all over your face.

He felt like the luckiest man in the world, getting to call you his, and you calling him yours.

Hopefully, you would be forever.

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So! This was my first headcanon post! I uh hope you liked it! Not gonna lie, I'm a liiiittle nervous posting this ; 0 v 0) I guess I'm still not really used to sharing my writing with people haha

[ficeacs]

Dragons Fight, Little Light (Chapter 1)

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon OFC Synopsis: Dragons love a chase. Warnings: Enemies to Lovers, Violence, Targcest, Begins with HOTD S1, Not Proofread Word Count: 5,330 Previous Chapter

Eraena found little sleep that night. Her mind wondered if her uncle was telling the truth or was trying to get a raise from her. Was she really thought of as the promiscuous princess of Dragonstone? Well, she knew that many knew of her ventures to the village near the keep in Dragonstone but she did no wrong other than sneaking out. Eraena lay and stared at the ceiling, trying to convince herself she had not done anything wrong. The realm already saw her as a bastard; she feared that they would also see her as a whore, even though her honor stayed intact. Eraena groaned and covered her head with a pillow. 

When morning came, Eraena was groggy from the lack of sleep, though the bath drew for her helped her wake. “What dress will it be today, princess?” Lyn asked, and Eraena thought for a moment. “That one,” she pointed to a dress of strong blue that fashioned her skills in embroidery once more. A chain of sapphires hung around her waist, a gift her father had given her. Eraena ventured into the halls of the keep with a box in her hands. She headed towards her Aunt’s apartments. 

“Princess Eraeana, your Highnesses.” The girl tried to hide her distaste when she saw Aemond. The prince had caused quite the commotion last night, why could he not let a wholesome family moment be? Eraena licked her lips and turned to Helaena with a small smile on her lips. “Good morning,” She greeted and headed towards the princess. “Oh, Eraena, so good of you to visit me,” the princess smiled. 

“Of course, and I came bearing gifts,” Eraena said, placing the box on a nearby table, which Helaena made her way to. “Open it,” she said and smiled at the look of giddiness Helaena was trying to surpass. “Oh my,” she whispered. I had the resident entomologist in Dragonstone curate a collection for you of rare insects that only inhabit the island,” Eraena explained and checked the box to see if everything was in order as she had instructed. The princess had figurines in her hands for the children, but her uncle still sat with them; she thought it better that she would give it to them later when he had left. 

Avoid him; do not engage. The girl reminded herself she could not afford to cause trouble once more, especially with her Mother in such a state. “Are those for the children?” Helaena asked softly, eyeing the three wood figurines that Eraena had practically forced Lucerys to make. Eraena had spent days meticulously painting a princess, a knight, and a dragon. “Oh, yes, Lucerys had carved them for the children,” Eraena said, and Helaena took her hands to inspect the toys. “He painted them too?” She asked, pale fingers tracing the figurines. “Well, no, I painted them.” She smiled. 

“Come, let me introduce you to my children,” She said with a ghost of a smile. Aemond was still seated on the floor with the twins, both Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, on his lap. Eraena avoided her eyes from the prince, fearing it would entice him to tease and torment her. Helaena crouched down, and Eraena cautiously did the same. Five purple eyes turned to the girl, “This is your cousin, Eraena,” Helaena said to the twins and if Eraena were to look at the elder prince, she would see him roll his lone eye. Eraena felt her lips twitch when the twins hurriedly left their uncle’s lap and made their way to her. The look of shock and annoyance that adorned the prince’s face amused the princess, but she quickly turned away and focused on the babes in front of her. 

Jaehaera clung quickly to the princess and Eraena let out a laugh on how the young princess found her way to sit on her lap like she did on her uncle earlier. “They like you already!” Helaena mussed and watched as her children switched from their uncle to their cousin. Eraena gave the princess figurine to little Jaehaera and the knight figurine to little Jaehaerys. “You have a third child, do you not?” Eraena asked and brushed the little blonde hairs away from the babe’s eyes. “Yes, Maelor, but he is still fast asleep.” Eraena nodded and returned her attention to the babes. 

She would expect Jaehaera’s attention would be on the new toy but Eraena saw purple eyes on the necklace on her neck. “I—I want,” Jaehaera mumbled and tried to grab the emerald pendant that was gifted to her on her most recent name day. Eraena’s eyes widened as Jahaera pulled on the necklace, making the elder princess jerk her head forward. “Jahaera, no!” Her mother said and came to Eraena’s aid. “I’m sorry, I—“ Eraena smiled, “It’s fine; my younger brother, Viserys, has the same habit.” She said and moved to unclasp the pendant so the young princess could inspect it more. When Jaehaera had the pendant in her hands, a toothy grin spread across her face, making Eraena laugh at the adorable face of the younger princess. She surpassed the urge to pinch the cherubic cheeks and turned to Jaehaerys, who now played with both figurines. 

It was then that Eraena remembered that there was another party amongst them. Her obsidian eyes found a lilac one. “Do you not have to train, brother?” Helaena asked. The prince’s eyes moved to his sister, and he silently shook his head. “Really? You are often in the tiltyard at this hour,” Helaena mumbled, “Yes, won’t Cole miss you terribly, uncle?” Eraena did not even realize the teasing words escaped her lips. Once she did, she felt her hands grow cold. Aemond was ready to throw yet another disparaging word to the girl but Helaena was quick to speak. “Tea!” She said, and the two turned to her. “Eraena, would… would you like to join me for tea?” She asked, and her invitation was quickly accepted. They handed the children to a nurse and made their way into the gardens. The emerald pendant was long forgotten. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you terribly. It became dreadfully lonely these past years,” Helaena said truthfully. The princess sensed melancholy in her eyes and tone. I know what you mean, especially when you are mostly surrounded by brothers. I was lucky to have Rhaena. No matter, I am here now,” Eraena smiled, took her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“Sister, there you are!” Jacaerys’ voice intervened. “Oh, Jace, join us, will you?” Helaena asked softly, and Eraena's brother obliged, taking his seat across from his sister. There was an awkward silence that enveloped the group. The one-eyed prince had followed the two princesses and sat across from his sister. A knight arrived, and Eraena thought maybe he was there to call over the other prince and save the group from tension. “A letter from Dragonstone, princess,” Eraena was handed a scroll of parchment with a seal she knew all too well; the girl tried her best to hide the blooming smile on her lips, remembering her brother was seated across from her. 

“Dragonstone? Who writes to you from Dragonstone? We’re all here.” Jace asked with a raised brow as Helaena turned to Eraena with an intrigued look. “No one. None of importance,” Eraena says and hides the scroll from her brother’s view. “Hm,” she heard a hum coming from the left, making her turn to Aemond, whose eye had been on the scroll. Eraena prayed, prayed to the gods that her brother would not question the scroll once more, and prayed that the burning gaze of a lilac eye would stop. Eraena tried to ignore the man on her left and listen to the conversation between Helaena and Jacaerys. Avoid him; do not engage. She told herself once more. 

When tea had ended, Eraena found herself with her sisters. “How long are we still to stay here? The trial had already ended. I doubt anyone else would question Driftmark’s line of succession after yesterday’s events.” Eraena asked the two. “Itching to go back to Dragonstone now, are we?” Rhaena teased, and Eraena let a smirk slip on her lips. “As a matter of fact, yes! I miss my room, the beds in here are quite lumpy. The sun is too hot; I miss roaming around without being judged! And I miss my other dresses and—“ She was cut off by Baela. “And Arthur,” She snickered, and Eraena rolled her eyes. “No! Well… yes, but I mostly miss my other dresses and jewelry.” She sighed and traced the flower patterns of her gown. “He sent me a letter,” Eraena then said, which intrigued the two girls.  

Eraena looked around. They were still in the gardens, seated on a bench in a spot that not many passed. She took the scroll from her pocket and broke its seal. The two girls hovered over their sister's shoulder and read its contents. 

My, Dearest, Eraena.

How are you, my flower? It has only been two days since you left, yet the island already feels so desolate without your radiant presence. The sun's rays seem dimmer, and the vibrant colors of your flowers are starting to fade; they are missing your touch. How long are you to stay there? Have the people of Kingslanding fared nicely to you, my princess? 

I long for your return, yearning for the day when you shall grace us with your presence once more. It would seem that my heart longs to rest its gaze upon you. Come back soon to me.

Yours,

Arthur.

Baela and Rhaena smiled at the blush on Eraena’s cheeks. “My flower,” Rhaena teased, making Eraena roll her eyes. “Must be nice to be sent a letter with such… flowery words,” Baela said. “Jacaerys’ letters only contained about health and the weather, sometimes a story about his ventures with Vermax but never like…” Baela drifted. “Aye, Jacaerys was never one for words.” Eraena agreed and took her sister’s hand in hers, giving it a comforting squeeze. 

In the afternoon, Eraena changed into her riding leathers. A wheelhouse delivered her to the pits, where her dragon awaited her excitedly. “Alina,” Eraena sang and waited for her dragon to reveal herself. The princess’s voice echoed through the pits, and what emerged was not her dragon but her uncle instead. Aemond had a fiery stare in his eye, and the girl wondered why he was already in such a state. 

“Will you be quiet? You are disturbing the dragons with your grating voice.” Ice-cold words clashed with the fire in his eye. Eraena pursed her lips and rolled her eyes but nodded. Standing still, waiting for her dragon, she turned to her side, and Aemond stood alongside her. “Why are you here? Vhagar does not even fit here,” she asked and folded her arms across her chest. “Mind your own business, niece.” He spat. 

Alina has still not emerged and Eraena was growing weary. She turned to her uncle once more; he had a torch in his hand. She thought to ask for it, so she could get Alina herself, but her mouth could not move and ask. Instead, she walked into the dark pits. “Alina,” Eraena called once more. The princess squinted her eyes in the dark. Only now did she wonder, where were the keepers? Eraena chewed on her lip and waited for the whine of her dragon; she was only met with furious footsteps and the orange hue of a torch. “What are you doing?” Aemond asked and took hold of her arm. “Trying to find my dragon.” She said as if it were the most obvious thing. “You do not go into the pits,” 

“Hm, were you not the one who often got into trouble for constantly venturing here?” She asked innocently, remembering an instance from their childhood. The ground shook, and they turned to the she-dragon with pearly white scales that shimmered gold in the light. “Hello, my love!” Eraena said giddily and practically skipped toward her dragon. Alina bent her head toward the girl, who placed a kiss upon its snout. Eraena inspected the mighty beast, trailing her hand upon the scales. She checked the breastplate that secured her saddle, a breastplate made of gold and dragon glass.

Alina growled lowly as her obsidian eyes, eyes like her rider, landed upon the prince. “Lykiri. Lykiri, Alina.” Eraena murmured and stroked her dragon’s snout. “It would seem you agitate my dragon, uncle,” Eraena observed as she made her way to her saddle. She turned to the prince who seemed to have a contest of stares with the beast. “Do not mind the small man, Alina,” Eraena said in ancient tongue and stroked its neck. “If you would, uncle, please step aside. Would not want you to get trampled on, however tempting it is.” Eraena said. She watched as Aemond huffed and was certain that he mouthed the words ‘spoiled bastard’ under his breath, but Eraena could no longer find care; she was to fly!

Alina soared through the skies, and Eraena smiled widely, seeing Kingslanding grow farther and farther away. Alina ascended higher, and the familiar feeling of liquid in Eraena’s stomach returned, and she felt her heart pace faster. Alina liked to toy with her rider, flying as high as the heavens and then dropping back quickly to earth. “Alina!” Eraena shouted in glee as Alina flew downwards. Another roar of a dragon took Eraena’s attention, and she felt her stomach fill with dread as she saw Vhagar heading towards them. “Higher, Alina.” Eraena quickly commanded. Scared of the mighty beast her uncle rode. The princess turned back and still saw the dragon behind them. 

For what seemed like hours, Eraena tried to find ways to avoid the two beasts. Stirring Alina in every direction, she tried hard not to let her fear shine through, knowing her dragon would feel it through the bond. Eraena sighed and decided that maybe she should stop flying. The girl felt annoyance surge through her as she returned to the pits once more. She sullenly removed her riding gloves and entered the wheelhouse, wholly upset at Aemond for ruining her ride. 

When afternoon came, the princess found herself in the library scanning through the books she had read from childhood. Countless tales of princesses and knights, wizards and kings. Little Aegon’s name day was approaching, and Eraena thought it a good present that she made one of her favorite stories into an illustrated book for her younger brother. Little Aegon loved her paintings and illustrations, often sitting on her lap as she painted back in Dragonstone. She originally wanted to write the story herself, but it was quite a large undertaking to create a story that her brother would enjoy. Eraena stared at the stack of books before her, thinking hard as to what story she would use. 

“A book is to be opened and read, not stared at.” Eraena heard a cold voice cut through the stony silence of the room. Eraena turned her head to Aemond, who stood before her. The girl was still quite annoyed by his actions earlier. The princess crossed her arm across her chest once more and stared unamused at the prince. She watched as Aemond raised a blonde brow at her scowling face. “You look ghastly when you scowl,” it only made Eraena’s frown deepen as he said words that Jacaerys had said before. It made her believe that she did look ghastly with not just her brother’s testimony but as well as her uncle's. The girl started to unconsciously pout as she tried to remove the scowl on her face. 

“No word for your uncle, I see,” Aemond said and took a seat across the girl. “I have no words for foolish men who would use a dragon of war to chase other riders. Do you realize how dangerous that was?” Eraena asked and sat up straight. “It was simply a jape,” Aemond reasoned, and Eraena could not help but frown once more. Since when had he been one for japes and jests? 

“That is not a jape; that is how war starts, Aemond,” the girl sighed. “Do not be so dramatic, Eraena,” the prince rolled his lone eye. “I am not being dramatic! You do not use a war dragon for a simple chase! It only knows of conquest and blood!” She watched as the prince pursed his lips, thinking of a reply. “What are you even doing here?” she asked, letting annoyance seep into her tone. 

“To read,” He said as if it were the most obvious thing. “Why here?” Eraena asked, and Aemond only frowned. “Because this is the library, has your stay in Dragonstone turned you into a simpleton, Eraena?” He asked, lips twitching upwards as the frown returned to the princess’ forehead. “No, what I meant was, what are you doing here, sat upon where I had sat first. There are other places for you to read.” She said and pointed to an empty nearby table and chair. She watched as Aemond turned to the spot she had pointed to, and the prince shrugged. 

Eraena rolled her eyes in response and stood. Taking the stack of books and moved to the empty spot, not wanting to be near the prince. Aemond watched, amused, as the princess took a seat that had her back turned to him. He was not even sure as to why he was in the library, not quite certain as to why he was engaging with the girl. She obviously wanted to be left alone, but Aemond could not let her have what she wanted, not when her whims and wants were always met. 

Eraena tried to focus on her task once more, trying hard not to turn and glare at the prince whose gaze burnt in the back of her head. For just having one eye, he surely knew how to stare someone down, the girl thought. It was quite some time as the two sat separately in silence; Eraena was done for the day, already picked a story that she would draw illustrations of, but she did not want to be the first to leave. Somehow, her pride convinced her that she should not be the one to leave first the uncomfortable presence of the room; it would be seen that she was bothered by the prince’s presence, that Aemond had the capability to unnerve her. So, she just sat there, staring blankly at an open book, pretending to read, turning its pages as if she were actually consuming literature. 

“Eraena, there you are!” She heard Rheana’s voice, and the princess quickly looked up. She watched as her sister cautiously eyed the prince seated behind her. “Your… brother has been looking for you for the past hour.” She said, confused as to why it was just the two of them in the library. Eraena nodded and stood up, taking her chosen book in hand, and quickly rushed out of the room. Her pride cannot be wounded in this situation; she did not leave because of him; it was because her brother had asked for her presence!

“What were you doing alone, with Prince Aemond.” Eraena frowned at her sister’s query, “Do not word it as such! I was not alone with Aemond. I was… was simply in an empty common room… with him.” Eraena explained. “We saw you two in the skies earlier,” Rhaena said. “That idiot made his dragon chase me and Alina!” Eraena complained. “Really? It just looked like the two of you were flying around in circles; it looked quite fun.” Rhaena shrugged, and Eraena frowned; it certainly did not feel that way. “Why was Jacaerys searching for me?” Eraena asked; Rhaena shrugged. 

“Sister! There you are!” Jacaerys said from the end of the hall, walking briskly toward the two. “What is it?” Eraena asked. “There is to be a hunt two days from now,” Jacaerys said, his excitement obvious. Though Eraena was at a loss as to why he had concerned her with this. “So?” She asked. “You must teach Lucerys and me to shoot again. Luc is waiting for you in the tiltyard.” Eraena looked at her brother oddly. “What? Why me? Ask Ser Harold or even Father to teach you.” “I’ve asked them, and they told me to ask you instead,” Eraena shook her head, “No, I cannot; I will be under scrutiny from the court. They already frowned upon my venture in the gardens alone; what else if I be the one who had to teach my brothers to shoot an arrow?” 

“Who cares what they think? Come now, sister, you are the best archer here!” Jacaerys tried to persuade the girl. With a couple more compliments and flattery, Eraena reluctantly nodded. “Fine! But I shall only stand by the side and watch you two. I’ll make comments here and there, but I will not touch a bow or arrow.” She explained as they headed to the tiltyard. Eraena’s eyes enclosed on their younger brother who had failed to set the arrow free. Rhaena no longer followed them, not interested in watching as Eraena grew frustrated teaching the two boys. 

“Straighten your back,” Eraena instructed from the side. “Keep your shoulders lax. Lucerys feet apart,” she said. “Only use your dominant eye upon the target,” “We know Eraena!” Lucerys groaned. “Do you? You have missed every time, brother.” She said, her eyes going to the failed attempts of the two. Arrows started to pile up on the dirt ground. “You are lacking force, Lucerys; readjust your shoulders,” she said, and Luc nodded. She then turned to Jacaerys, “You do not have an aim. I fear for the others joining you in the hunt.” She said and saw as her brother rolled his eyes. “Release,” she instructed. 

Lucerys had not quite hit the center but at least his bow finally stuck to the target instead of just falling into the ground. Jacaerys’ arrow, however, flew to a pile of hay. “Good Luc!” Eraena said and smiled at her younger brother. “My, my, what do we have here? Training for the hunt boys?” Aegon’s voice sounded out making three dark eyes turn to the prince. “And what are you doing here, Eraena? I had never thought you were one to spend time in the tiltyard, or are you training once more on how to maim men.” Eraena tried to surpass the grin as she saw Aegon had a slight limp to him. “Just watching my brothers, uncle,” she replied. 

Aegon made his way to where the princess stood. “Then let me join you, dear niece.” The elder prince stood a bit too close to Eraena and the girl was quick to step away, putting. A hearty distance between them. Her brothers turned to her and she nodded, and the two set aim once more. Once again, Lucerys lacked force, and Jacaerys lacked aim. The girl wanted to groan, growing frustrated at the two. “Feet apart, Lucerys!” Eraena cracked, not caring that Aegon was there. She went to her brother and used her foot to indicate what the younger prince’s stance should be. “And you, Jacaerys, you must close your other eye! Your vision is being split!” She groaned and used her fingers to forcefully close her brother’s eyelid. “I can’t! I physically cannot just close one eyelid!” He said, and Eraena huffed. “Might you borrow one of my brother’s eyepatches?” Aegon mused a smirk on his lips as he watched the princess scold her brothers. 

Eraena turned to Aegon, considering his suggestion. She knew it to be a jest but it would solve Jacaerys’ lack of aim. “No!” Jacaerys said, seeing the look his sister held. “Well, you won’t do well in this hunt!” Eraena returned to her spot next to Aegon. “Again!” She instructed. “I must say, I never thought you to be such an authoritarian,” the elder prince said and inched closer to the princess, though it was futile as she was returning to her brother to show him the proper stance once more.

“Back straight, Lucerys, and your foot! I swear to the gods I will nail your foot if you do not keep them apart.” She warned. She now remembered why she had not been assigned to teach Joffery high Valyrian or teach anything for that matter. The girl was too impatient. “You're growing red, Eraena,” the younger prince mumbled, and his elder brother snickered. The princess threw her brother a glare. “I’ve had enough of this, I told you. You should have just asked Ser Harold,” Eraena grumbled and returned to stand next to Aegon on the side. “So impatient, little niece… Though, I think I like you better domineering.” The elder silver prince mused. Eraena turned to the prince with a disgusted look on her face, her round lips upturned, brows once again furrowed. Aegon only laughed at his niece’s face. “Do not fret, Eraena; I shall teach your brothers to shoot. Would not want to aggravate that pretty face of yours.” 

The prince made his way to take the bow from Lucerys, and the younger prince turned to his sister, who nodded. The two brown-haired princes watched as their uncle took his stance. Aegon had let go of the arrow and had impressed Eraena. He was not a terrible shot. She thought. It was slightly off-centered, but it was better than any shot her brothers had made. “Luc, look at Aegon’s footing,” She instructed, and her brother mimicked their uncle’s stance. Eraena walked closer to them, Aegon ready to let go of another bow. He felt fingers upon his upper back, “Straighten your spine, Aegon; do not hunch,” Eraena instructed. He did like her better when she was giving out orders, obviously growing annoyed. “As you wish, sweet Eraena,” he said and let go of the arrow, landing it upon the center. 

He turned to look at the girl, hoping to find a look of impressed on her pretty face, but she had moved her attention to her other brother. “What are you doing?” Jacaerys asked as Eraena wrapped her handkerchief around his head, covering one of his eyes. “Shoot,” Eraena instructed; her brother was hesitant but did as she told. Finally, a centered shot from Jacaerys! A look of achievement adorned her brother’s face. He made to shoot another, and a laugh escaped his lips. “This is easy!” He said, and Eraena rolled her eyes. “All right, don’t get cocky.” Eraena returned her attention to Luc. “Ready?” She asked and her younger brother gave a nod. “Release,” The bow was off-centered, but it was close enough. “Good,” Eraena said. “Just try to aim better, and do not forget your footing.” Aegon and her returned to the side, “Thank you,” she said lowly. If he had not intervened, she would have stomped off the tiltyard. Aegon nodded with a smirk on his lips, his eyes not turned to his niece but to the figure above, watching them with a burning eye. 

Another supper with the entire family was held. However, the girl could not fathom why they would think it was a great idea, especially after the events of the other night. As Eraena entered the dining hall, her seat in between Jacaerys and Aegon was gone, instead, the only empty seat was next to her other uncle. The gods really love to toy with me, don’t they? The girl thought. Dinner was started with prayer once more. It would seem appetite eluded Eraena, only pushing around the food on her plate. “I saw two dragons in the skies earlier, Vhagar and Alina. Did the two of you enjoy your ride?” Alicent asked the two silent individuals to her right. Eraena peeked through her lashes to look at Aemond, his good eye on her. He made no indication to respond to his mother, so Eraena forced a tight smile on her lips. “You can say that, my queen,” she fibbed, she did not enjoy her ride, not at all. Alicent gave the girl a small smile and returned to her meal. 

“I saw the prince Aegon with his nephews and niece in the tiltyard, practicing for the hunt, I assume?” The hand inquired. Eraena turned to the three, who nodded. “The princess? In the tiltyard? You are not joining the hunt, are you, Eraena?” The queen asked, almost scandalized. “I—I am not, your grace.” She replied. “Eraena was merely supervising her brothers,” Daemon interjected. “Supervising? I would not think that a princess should have been the one to teach princes a skill such as archery,” Eraena bit back her tongue and took a chalice to her lips to hinder her from speaking out of turn. 

“It…gladdens my heart to see… to see you all getting along.” The king suddenly spoke. “This… this is how it should be,” Eraena could see a smile breaking upon his cracked lips. Her mother smiled and took hold of her father’s hand. Supper ended fairly quickly, unlike the other night; this held less violence. Eraena walked the hallways of the keep, alone and her mind wandering off once again. She passed by a window alcove and paused, staring up at the crescent moon before her. Eraena leaned upon the opened window and took in a deep breath, the cool night breeze fanning her face. 

“It is not wise to lurk these halls at night,” she heard the cold silky voice of Aemond. “I am not one to lurk, uncle; that is your specialty if I remember correctly.” Eraena sighed and turned to the man who stood behind her. “You seem to enjoy my brother’s company,” he said, and Eraena raised her brow. “Well, I would always enjoy the company of those who do not make chase on a war dragon’s back,” she said and watched as Aemond’s jaw ticked. “Let it go, Eraena,” The prince sighed and stepped closer to the prince. “No,” the girl felt a smirk coming to her lips but hindered it. “I will not until you apologize,” she said and wanted to laugh at the look of appalled on Aemond’s face. “I will never apologize to a bastard like you,” the girl shrugged, the word bastard rolling down her back as if it were not a deep insult he had made it to be. 

“Then I shall be here to constantly remind you of your idiotic actions; what happened to the cautious boy I once knew? Has your vigilance gone with your eye, uncle?” She asked and finally let the smirk pass to her lips. It was quick to be wiped by Aemond’s next actions, forcefully pushing her to the curved wall of the alcove, his hand enclosed on her neck. Eraena’s obsidian eyes widened in fear, and her breathing stopped. She clawed at the prince’s hand. “A—Aemond,” she wheezed out, but the prince was too far gone in his own rage. Eraena closed her eyes, feeling his hold tighten, lifting the girl from the ground by her throat. “How easy it is to be rid of you now, bastard,” Aemond seethed, and Eraena felt tears run down her face. It was not until her salty tears hit Aemond’s hand that he grew aware of what he had done. 

The prince quickly let go of the girl, who fell harshly to the ground. “Eraena…” he managed to say, voice growing soft. Eraena tried catching her breath and turned to the prince in horror. She quickly stood up, gathered her skirts, and ran to her chambers in fear. When in the solace of her own chambers, Eraena broke into tears. Anger cannot find a place in her being; she is only wrapped in fear. What has Aemond come to? So cruel and callous that he did not even give a second thought about taking her life.

[luveline]

hi jade, sending a request for prince steve if ur box is open rn, my apologies if not! i was wondering if we could get something about maybe the night before the wedding where they decide to make some private promises to each other that the whole kingdom won't be privy too? just some sweetness in general from those two would be nice. thx!! love u and ur writing and happy new years!

prince!steve soulmate au —you and steve have a last minute panic the night before your wedding, 1.3k. fem

Steve holds your hand all the way to the garden. It isn't proper to see him so late at night, especially the night before your wedding, but the guards lining the corridors say little as you pass. Selenite shines under your slippers, white shot through with an impossible light marbling. 

Steve sees where you're looking and gives your fingers a tender stroke. “You okay?” he asks. 

You nod and follow him down the steps to the garden. Steve has his own private section with a hammock on lifted stone and a terrace covered in honeysuckle. There's a picnic basket and a bottle of something beside it near two round cushions, but the small record player is what catches your attention. 

“Oh, you're going to sing for me,” you joke. 

“If you want me to. Are you warm enough?” 

The weather is temperate. Not as hot as you'd hoped but it is getting late, the surrounding light of the kingdom and the crystal eucalyptus sconces glowing a minty blue that chases back the shadows but not the lack of sun. 

“It's fine,” you say, giving his hand a careful squeeze back. He smiles to himself and helps you around the grass and onto your cushion. 

He knows your nerves are shot. You're terrified for tomorrow, so scared of the crowds and the ceremony and the great heavy weight of your tiara. Your dress is less imposing, colourful, gaussian cuts of silk layered over you like something out of your storybooks. When you saw it you gasped, unable to coalesce the image you'd seen in the mirror with your usual reflection. 

The wedding is suddenly here. You'll be a princess. You'll be his wife. 

“Steve,” you say tightly, wrapping your arms around your knees. 

“I know.” He opens the picnic basket and unearths a brown paper bag. “Here.” 

You take his little bag knowing already that it'll be filled with pear candies. “We have to run away,” you say, poking nervously through the candy for a small one. You put it between your molars and talk through your teeth. “Tonight.” 

“I have my bags packed.” He pulls out a sandwich made of finely cut tofu toasted in paprika and oil, then a second with softer bread. “That's lamb.” 

You raise your brows at it. “Thank you, Steve, really, but I'm–” 

“Not hungry. Me neither.” He closes the basket and pushes it all away, leaving nothing but air between you. “Do you really want to run away?” 

“Do you really want to marry me?” you ask. 

“Mm. More than anything,” he says, as though it isn't a big deal, as though he isn't himself. Steve acts like loving you is something he would've done regardless, and it always catches you off guard. 

“But if we weren't–” 

“But we are.” 

“If we weren't–” you stress. 

Steve crosses his legs on the pillow. He looks completely normal tonight, his hair unstyled and curling by his ears, his loose shirt and pants reminiscent of your own. The only thing that gives him away is the silver ring on his pinky finger that denotes the kingdom's main house. It's priceless. You could live a thousand luxurious lives off of the spoils you'd make from selling it. 

He twists it around his fingers when he notices your gaze. “Okay,” he says, pulling it off. 

“What?” 

“If you want to run away, I won't stop you. I've told you before that I'd never make you do something you don't want to do, and I still mean it.” He smiles handsomely as he offers you the ring. “Take it, sweetheart. I don't want it.” 

You take it uncertainly. 

“But if you want to stay,” he adds, his naked hand on the floor between you, “then I promise to make you believe it.” 

“Believe what?” you ask through a frown. 

“That being soulmates doesn't matter. Of course it does, I couldn't be luckier in who the fates picked for me, or the stars, whatever you believe, sweetheart, I couldn't be luckier. And if we weren't soulmates, I– if we met somewhere different, I'd still want to marry you. You know that? I look at you, and you're it for me.” 

You shake your head. “Would you come with me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Really?” 

“Is that hard to believe?” He gets onto his knees adjacent and holds out his hand, relief like the sun shining in his warm voice as he murmurs, “I'm freaking you out.” 

“You're not.” 

“I'm being too forward.” His smile wavers. “The wedding isn't for us. I want to marry you, but we both– I know you're not ready. You're doing this for me, because I've asked you to, because they've asked us to, and you're not ready. We don't know each other.” 

“We do,” you say. 

“Okay, we do.” He rubs the back of your hand, once again so tender. “But not as much as most married people do.” 

“Right,” you say quietly. 

“And the wedding is a total sham anyways. You're going to look beautiful, and I'll be handsome like always,” —you laugh breathlessly, your panic melding to relief— “but it's definitely not for us. I get that. There's no pressure for anything to change between us, okay? I like things how they are.” 

He shrugs and it's such a cute gesture, you forget for a moment what's worrying you. A split second, thinking, oh, he's lovely to look at. He acts like the Prince he is. He acts as though he's already fallen in love with you. 

“I think I'm just panicking because we don't have any choice,” you say. 

“We do, honey,” he reassures you. “Of course we do. If you really, really don't want to get married, we won't.” 

It would cause a huge palaver, and it might break his heart a little. It might, when you think about it, break yours.

“But I'm marrying you,” you say.

He breathes out hard, taking your shoulder into his hand to pull you forward for a relieved, chaste kiss. It's so sweet and warm, you can't help pulling away too fast. His soul mark glows a rosy pink. “You're marrying me,” he says, meeting your eyes. “I'm a lucky guy, huh?” 

He holds out his arms for a hug which you immediately give. 

“I want to marry you,” you continue, delighted when he relaxes in your arms. “I do. It's not about you, I'm just terrified. I mean, it's not really us? I didn't even get to write my own vows.” 

A small but heavily felt silence lapses. “You wanted to do that?” Steve asks. 

You nod into his shoulder, refusing to lean away even as his hands retract. “Yeah,” you say, voice small. 

“You really want to?”

“You've promised me a lot of things since I found you. I would've liked to return the favour,” you say, flustered. 

“You found me,” he says. You don't need to see his face to hear his smile. "Here, give me that back. If you aren't running away, you may as well wear it." He slides it onto your marriage finger. The significance isn't lost.

He gets you both a pad of paper and a cup of scratchy pens, and you spend the evening writing vows you're too embarrassed to say aloud to one another in the garden. You swap papers, and spend the night pouring over his promises with an aching awe built in your chest. When the maids come calling that morning you're already awake, getting ready for the day ahead. 

I'll make you laugh, and I'll keep you safe, and I'll never let the Palace idiots boss you around. I'll be the best kiss ever, and a better friend. I'll be careful with your heart if you're careful with mine. And I won't laugh if you slip in your new shoes. Much.

[themotherofblood]

Ruie, my dear, I was re-reading "The Dragon and The Dancer" and if you are still writing/accepting requests can I get a prequel(before the events of "laut ke ajana") where she dances for Daemon (with some nsfw) please?

ugh first of all, I hope your pillow is always cold, your charger cords never break and may you find money on the streets just for funsises.

second of all!!! Saaiyan Hatto Jao would be such a fitting song, of Dancer seducing Daemon so let’s go!

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Wife!Reader

tw: exhibitionism? kinda misogynistic but bare with me pls 🤭 clit play, fivesome(kinda), breeding kink, humiliation, oral m and f receiving. mf(fff), mentions of underage stuff ekkk

main masterlist

In whatever capacity Daemon had within himself to restrain himself from his pretty wife was surely a bravery the Maesters ought to write in books. He had graced the courts of Lys multiple, multiple times. That's where he’d found Mysaria all those years ago. She was a whore, and dancer but a whore. He visited the city twice in his youth, in all his glory mounted open the ominous visage that was Caraxes yet not once was he esteemed enough to watch the infamous courtesans of Lys. Those women, wretched but entrancing women who invited the ones their hearts pleased, unlike any other establishment that would let in anyone with a coin to throw.

Imagine his surprise when an enticing swan from that very establishment had been under his nose this entire time, part of him cursed himself for not seeing it earlier. Something of such enchanting breeding couldn’t have simply come from the loins of Qoren Martell, and knowing your parentage was from Lys. If you weren’t already an insatiable spirit, Daemon pawed at your skirts even more now. He knew that the matter of you dancing was rather sensitive since your mother’s passing and he would never impose himself onto you otherwise.

Yet it couldn’t help taunt the perverse within him, such was the beauty of the Lysenees courtesans. To entice a man wild with just the melody of their voices and the ancient craft of their dance. Many a man with pockets deep enough to raise kingdoms lost their prospects at the doorsills of these bewitching girls.

You spoke of it at length with him once, sat in a warm bath overlooking the sunset, how esteemed of a pupil you were and come of age, your introductory performance had carriages lined for ten streets. Should the time have come, you might have even become the Madam of the establishment with age. The more you excelled in your art the more you feared of never leaving that place like your mother had wished for you. You not once loathed dancing, you hated the politics— you hated how wars began at the backs of courtesans partaking in spying against the very lords they once served to backstab and plot away at every chance they got for their survival. You rather missed the morning singing lessons and the sounds of your sister's anklets running up and down the halls.

“You keep such things from me,” Daemon muttered against your bare shoulder, peppering kisses up to your “You sing?”

You nodded, lifting your head to look at him with a sheepish smile.

It wouldn’t take a lunatic to envision your sweet voice singing away… singing just for him. He tried, he tried so very hard to not let his twitch cock at the thought of it, he was sure you felt it.

“What am I to do with you.” He groaned.

For a wish he had dreamt of since he was near seven and ten, no amount of gold named to the second Targaryen prince would get him inside that establishment, not after he had claimed Caraxes— a magnanimous beast that could burn all those witches in there all at once and not even after aiding the Free Cities with its odd brawls with one another.

And here the damned gods had blessed him with his wish, perched upon his lap. Eager to please him, vowed to obey and be with him till death do them part. Curious how the world worked.

You were no fool, like an animal in rut you had felt Daemon’s demeanour change since the day he discovered you were an untouched courtesan and caught you dancing in the Mirrored Palace alone. You were no stranger to the allure and aura that followed from being who you were, or who your performative personality is.

There is no harm done you thought, you had no joy in dancing for the men at court yet the sound of perhaps performing— truly performing for your lord husband seemed titillating.

It was the conditioning perhaps, to have a noble lord claim a courtesan all to himself, it showed one of two things. A lord with immensely fat pockets or a woman worth nearly a kingdom and its cavalry.

What were you worth? A fucking dragon-lord, a kingdom can’t be worth much if it’s ash. With your children most likely inheriting dragons too, you would by comparison must have outshone all your sisters back in Lys. Such fortune all for a pretty song and the swaying of one’s hips.

When Daemon had told you about is escapades in Essos, especially of how many times the poor prince had tried to gain an audience at your former court. You internally giggled at the picture of a young Daemon clamouring like the rest with gifts and praises to win the attention of your house Madam at the time. Even when he returned with a dragon he was barred, and it wasn’t unusual. Your Madam enjoyed playing with fire, toying with how far she could push men just to catch a glimpse of one of her girls.

Come to think of it, she might have been trying to grasp for an invitation to the Old King’s court, set up an establishment in King’s Landing. But one thing you’d learned from the stories Daemon told you about King’s Landing. Much of the courtesan's work would be polluted by the lack of affection for its craft.

You couldn't deprive him so, not when he paid you handsomely, ravishing your body each night like a silent prayer. Even having seen you, felt you and taught you things that would go beyond the means of a courtesan’s work. You saw the passion in his eyes when he’d find you fixing your ghungroos or humming under your breath as you worked on your needlepoint. The tests of a true Madam now laid at your feet, not only to devise an elaborate function for your dear husband but to be discreet and the most essential part of it all, for you to be perfection.

You’d pick the night of the coming full moon, you knew your father would have grumbled himself to his chambers rather early, the change in tides somehow always made him ill. Your sisters would all be abed, Daemon’s daughter’s too. The commendable part were your lady’s maids, pussyfooting away orders of flowers from Pentos, the special vials of rose oil from Qarth, at least a hundred candles to light up the arched viewpoint at the Watergardens. Daemon’s favourite foods to be prepared along with fine strong wines from the Old Palace cellars.

The intricacies of this function had been handled with such care and secrecy, that it made you consider moving into the manse your father had gifted you after your wedding for some privacy. Surely, a married— happily married couple engaging in salacious acts with one another shouldn't be unexpected. Lastly your lehenga, unlike the ones you usually wear, was truly a magnificent piece made by the dressmaker. A black velvet blouse with a dangerously low neckline and shoulder embroidered with dragons of red and gold threads, a lighter skirt of silk with heavy gold embroidery and embellishments and a chiffon embellished shawl that did nothing to hide your figure.

Another ruse was set up to hide your true schemes, a quaint supper with just you and Daemon being entertained by folk singers sent by Yi Ti.

The evening had been rather splendid, Daemon had no interest in listening to some fucks sing about in a tongue he understood not, but when his sweet wife insisted upon spending the evening together: he couldn't deny you.

He suspected that you were up to something, with supper being prepared, dishes lined up one after the other which were all those he shamelessly indulged in, the rather aged wine that you had been consuming a little too much of. He did not mind, either way, fucking his wife tonight sober or a sweet slobber mess— all was well in the world. After what seemed like a while, Daemon finally felt at ease, calm with a purpose that he belonged, with his daughters and you.

“Excuse me, dearest.” you whispered against his ear, smiling before pecking his cheek “I’ll be back.”

Daemon smiled back, watching you rise from the floored cushions that the both of you nested on, his eyes very shamelessly admiring your backside and the curves of your hips as you walked back into your quarters. He marvelled at the thought of ripping that very lovely maroon gown of your body. The colour change had been a sudden shock to him when you fluttered your way into the sparring wards in a Dornish gown painted in the dark crimson of his house’s colour. Rest assured the sparring continued later in the evening and the gown alas did not survive.

You had slipped out easily, just as the doors closed behind you, the lot of you bolted the opposite direction to your privy and down the hallways, skirts hiked up as you used your other hand to free your hair of the loose Westerosi braids they were in. Your maids ran with you, two of them already waiting by the Watergardens along with the the whore dancers you had acquired all outfitted in white and the esteemed musicians that played at every one of your events.

Hiding behind the thick shrubbery, your maids hastily stripped you off your gown and small clothes and replaced them with the ensemble made for tonight. You prayed to the gods while calming your breath from all that running, let it be perfect. The four girls would greet Daemon upon his arrival, even though they would be a finer treat than most men have had in this lifetime, you were another anthology entirely.

Daemon had been given his first clue after the Yi Ti performers had finally ended their never-ending song.

“The princess awaits you in the Watergardens, my prince.” the attendant had informed before scurrying away.

Whatever this was, Daemon was truly intrigued seemingly obeying his wife and heading straight out of the gardens without any delay. The show that greeted him there however had him taken aback for a moment, the garden pillars decorated in blossoms and twinkling candles scattered across the stairs leading to the arches. He could hear the mellow music and the serene sound of flute dancing along with the crashing waves.

Just like a dream come true, he was greeted by the sound of ghungroos— a sound he had grown accustomed to. Four girls rushed towards him, lifting their hands to their faces and bowing.

“Good evening, my prince.” one of them spoke.

“We have longed for your arrival, your grace.” said the other. Reaching forward for Daemon’s hand.

At any other time he might have pulled away, but this was surely orchestrated by his wayward wife. He could feel her around but couldn't see, and these girls— preening up at him like willing, wanting whores, they were no courtesans. He played along, letting them drag him along to the shore view where an elaborate arrangement awaited him. An old fire in him arose when his reputation had been so palpable at the many brothels across the Known World. Two of them pushed him onto the plush sete, giggling as one of them plops right next to him.

“Would you like some refreshments, my prince.” One of them said with a bunch of grapes in her hand, the other poured him a glass of wine. The third took her time feeling Daemon up, he thoroughly enjoyed this but longed for his wife— his courtesan. One of them began to unbutton the tops of his doublet, soft fingers trailing across his chest.

His sexual frustrations and anticipation began to pivot to a perverse ire, to find you hiding somewhere and reprimand you with your arse red for teasing him so.

That is when the sound of a heavier set of ghungroos echoed around the arches, there you were. Your glowing face against the moonlit sky and candles, you walked towards, body covered in a thick black shawl. The girls around him lifted their skirts and ran towards you, positioning themselves. Then came the music, a smirk so prominent settled itself on Daemon’s lips as his lifelong dream had now stood in fruition before him.

You seductively, inch by inch let the black shawl drop until it fell to the ground, looking at the shawl and suggestively looking up at your husband. You twirled thrice forward, ending right by Daemon’s legs and lowered yourself. He knew not of what you sang but it was as though a witch chanted spells to bind him to you.

The song you sang was one of innocence, a sweet girl begging her lover to let her return home— for the higher the moon rose in the sky her reputation hung by a thread. Ever so seductively telling him to stay away because she knew his true desires were so very impure.

Stay away my love, I know what you desire

You reached for the rose tucked in your blouse, reaching lower to gesture at your ghungroos, giving Daemona a rather exposed view of your bosom. You acted as if his looking had offended you and flicked the rose at him, you stood to continue your routine still singing without a note or beat missed. You knew within that you were perfection, it is what you were trained for from birth. This one performance should have costed half of Pentos, but look upon Daemon’s eyes was payment enough for you.

Night fades to dawn my love, please let me go home

You pulled your shawl of your head and down you your shoulder, toying with it around your cleavage. Eyebrows suggestively scrunched at Daemon, making him kiss the rose you gave him and throw it back at you which you caught with ease, letting the petal graze upon your cheek and then your lips lowering it further down the sides of your torso and tucking it this time at the lining of your skirt. You turn your back towards him swaying you hips as you walked away, turning once to wink at him and continuing to walk until the hardest part of the number began.

The percussion beats could never be missed by your feet, in a performative haze you smiled at the three dancers who also did an extraordinary job at keeping up with you. You turned one last time.

My mother and sister by law shall poke, where had I been, my love. I will die of embarrassment

You walked towards him this time, an exaggerated sway in your hip as you pulled your shawl out from your skirt lining and let it fall to the floor, you turned once more, performatively reaching for the back strings of your blouse and pulling them to mimic a sensual morning stretch. You turned towards your husband who had settled himself further into the cushion.

You kept singing as he reached his hand out, you took it letting him pull you onto his lap. Your soft finger held his face as you kept singing, leading his face towards your neck and he wasted no time in peppering kisses down your collarbone. You pushed him back there after which startled him, you could feel the hardened mound under his breeches— your payment.

Stay away my love, I know of what you desire.

Daemon had enough, still letting you finish your song, your eyes and eyebrows still expressing away your performative feelings as he reached for your Nath and removed it, a significant indication of deflowering a young courtesan.

Your song ended as you sat straddled upon Daemon’s lap, you gaze never left his— like you were another person entirely. Daemon relished in how he intimidated you, how shy and small you were around him, how receptive but innocent you remained even when he taught you to pleasure him and yourself in bed. Yet this woman sat atop him, you were someone else.

“Was it everything you ever dreamed of, my prince.” Your whispered, your hands caressing his face.

Daemon for a moment couldn’t find his words, that’s when you snapped from your performance growing anxious from the silence. You were about to pull away when Daemon abruptly spun you down onto the cushion so he lay towering over you, caging you under his broad build.

“How am I to pay you, my lady,” he said, wanting to rip the clothing off your body but he looked behind to still see the four girls standing.

“They are yours tonight my prince,” you nervously, your aura slipping back to the former “As am I.”

At that Daemon held no restraint and laid siege upon your body, he figured the lasses could still dance as Daemon would take you apart under the moonlit sky.

You held nothing back, arching your back onto the onslaught of Daemon’s lips. Letting your fingers feel the remaining buttons of his doublet and pushing them off his shoulder. This time you pushed back, the heat on your cheeks so apparent for you’d never thought to be so forthcoming in bed before, Daemon always held the reins, placing you in positions he liked, teaching you ways to pleasure yourself.

Daemon grunted for a moment, fighting against the push of your hands before giving in, letting you lay him back down once more. You straddled him once more, this time slipping back into the seductive performance you’d laid out for him. Smiling down at him as you slipped your blouse off, slowly— inch by inch before dropping it next to you.

Daemon’s lips parted in a gasp, though his cockiness would credit his lessons for confidence in this matter. He was further crazed by how much you appeared to be enjoying doing this. He couldn't help himself, reaching up to tweak at your left nipple. You began to roll your hips against the hardening of his breeches, your bare cunt under your skirt pressed at the girth giving you just a small burst of pleasure.

You did Daemon of his tunic, your fingers tracing his battle scars as you reached lower, letting your lips press against his warm skin— letting yourself inch lower and lower as you shuffled off him.

You both yearned greatly for one another, nearly four moons into your marriage and the passions you shared for one another only seemed to reach further heights with each passing day. A fire that Daemon had lit within you burned so bright for him every day. One might think you were born to be with him, obey him.

Daemon watched as you undid his pants, pulling them down his legs and not once leaving his eyes, you were an ethereal sight, bare-chested with his gifted jewels shining at your neck— so prepared to service him. You reached for his cock and that's when he stopped you.

His hands trailed to your head of wild hair, gently tugging at it. “You want my cock?” he said. Eyes wild and waiting for your response.

You meekly nodded, sticking your tongue out just as he taught you to. Wasting no time further he pushes your mouth onto his cock, letting your head bob and suction at his length. You worked your tongue around his cock, the taste of him so familiar in your mouth. You whimper as he pushes in further breaching the back of your mouth and making your eyes water.

“Who would have thought it hmm, the finest girl Lys could offer kneeled like a whore for me” his words falsely degrading you sending shockwaves straight to you your core.

You whimper, this time willingly taking him deeper feeling your throat want to constrict as you pull up for air— he however stops you briefly before giving you relief. A string of salvia lingering on your lips. He wiped at the tears polling around the corner of your eyes.

“Take the rest of it off girl,” he demanded, eyes ravenous and impatient.

You gathered your bearing before standing once more, pulling at the waist string of your skirts with no haste to tease him yet again. You let your skirt fall as you caught onto the rose still tucked at your waistline. You kissed it and threw it at him. Every look, every action towards you seemed to have been pooling your cunt wet.

Daemon grunted, yanking you back onto him. His lips smacked against yours once more as he took a harsh hold of your tit with one hand while the other held you here. His actions were voracious, seducing your soul rather than your body.

You took matters into your own hands, unable to keep up with this game any longer and reached for his cock— gently rubbing the tip at you folds before lowering yourself onto him.

Daemon groaned into your mouth as you gasped, having never felt him so deep, you held onto his shoulder fingernails digging in.

“You're so deep,” you whispered, your breath hitching as you adjusted to the intrusion.

His fingers dug into the flesh of your arse pulling you further down and full of him. You felt so close, so one with him. You began to grind your hip, your neck cranked as Daemon’s head dipped lower to kiss your shoulders and up your neck.

“Such a fine prize aren't you, tell me how do I pay you?” he said bucking his hips up into you making you sqwak.

“D-dragonseed… I want your babes.” you whispered, head hanging in a wanting shame.

Daemon smirked, he had forever hoped to make you swell of his children but he never knew your sweet mind craved to be bred.

“Go on then, take what you want.” he rested back on to his elbows, bucking his hips once more to coerce you to keep going.

You rested a hand on his torso using it as leverage to lift your hips to bounce into his cock. Your snug cunt milking him to fill you. Your smaller legs weren't enough to lift you that far off his cock, but you tried nonetheless. Daemon reached for your cunny, his thumb began to rub circles onto your clit sending you into a frenzy— riding him with far more determination.

It felt good, so very good.

“How does it feel darling? How does it feel riding a dragon.”

You let out a strained giggle at that, still unable to help your childish mind. You kept riding him, Daemon’s lips restraining a smile too at your ill-timed humour. Earning you a sharp smack on your left tit.

“It feels so good, so deep.”

Your hips found a steady rhythm against Daemon’s fingers at your bundle of nerves. Your each bounce ore eager than the one before. Your tits bobbing and calling for equal attention from Daemon.

“My prince!”

You moaned, feeling that pinnacle ever so close as you chased it.

“I’m all yours,” you said unprovoked “a courtesan trained just for you.”

Daemon nearly lost his bearings at that, pinching your nipple harder. Seven Hells— he knew you were made just for him.

“Say it again.”

“I was born to be your c- courtesan.” you cried, feeling so very close to completion.

Your thighs begin to shudder, he can feel them clenching— he lets go of your breast and grabs your hips in aid to feel you gush around him. A sudden pitched cry leaves your mouth as you tremble your bouncing coming to a halt as you fight to hold yourself up but Daemon’s fingers on your bundle of nerves don't stop.

He abruptly flips you over, readjusting you within a blink of an eye. Your bare body facing the dancers as Daemon’s solid wet-length rested on the curve of your ass.

“We could get your money’s worth,” he suggested nipping at your ear lobe, his demeanour shifted to the one of you loving husband. “We needn't—”

“I trust you.” you looked up at him, chest still heaving from your peak before and yet you always wanted more of him, more of his depravities.

So many fantasies, much to do.

He gestured them forward knowing they would take much time to shed their clothes, they were whores trained to dance.

All three of of them vulgarly bowed, giggling amongst themselves.

“My prince.” The chorus of their voice followed as they began their performance to reach for him.

He tutted— he’d die happy if he died tonight.

“Not me, her.” He ordered.

You looked back up at him, a curious flare in your eyes that was met with his top protruding at your sloppy opening once more.

The girls entirely shifted their attention onto you.

“Mhmm you have such lovely tits princess.”

“Such soft skin.”

“Such a fine figure, your grace.”

Daemon pushed into you once more, groaning and resting his head onto your shoulder. His palm curled around you neck pulling your back against his shoulder. He knew of the explosive pleasure you were about to discover, even more joy was that he would be the one giving it to you, a fine reward for my girl, the fruits of the lovely exhibition you'd put on for him.

He began fucking into you, small grunts and exhales lingered by your ear and what followed from there on had your mind scattered.

One whore settled on suckling your nipples, twisting and toying with the other. One muffled your moans with her lips upon yours. Your cunny was already sensitive but then you felt a sensation you never had before. The third girl kneeled by the nest and began to lick your bud.

“D— Daemon!”

The sensation so overwhelming you began to pull away, Daemon curled other arm firm around your torso to keep you in place as he continued rut into you.

“Feels good doesn’t it, my love?”

You could barely speak but you nodded, eyes shut feeling yourself so lost in every touch. One of the whores disappeared behind you, settling herself under Daemon to service his heavy stones.

He watched as the whores played with your tits, he too reach further up to tweak a pebble harshly between his fingers. You gasped at the burn of pain. The whore sucking at your teat came to your defence.

“Gentle my prince, breaking a thing so pretty isn’t fair”

“Not this one, her cunt is squelching around me.” he groans.

“Its true!” the girl by your cunt giggles.

Your cheeks burned in shame, they spoke of you like you weren't around. The whore licking your bud pushed at your folds to leave it exposed as she suckled and licked and rubbed away. Daemon’s cock fucked you raw from within and you felt it once more, hurtling towards.

“Go on, wet my cock my love.” he grunted fucking you harder.

His peak chased after as you broke first, gushing around his cock as you screamed his name. Legs and arms shuddering as Daemon grunted to completion himself, ropes of his spent coated your walls. You could feel the warmth within, nearly forfeited by your sensations. He held your body so close, recovering himself as he shooed the whores away.

Letting you collapse in the nest first and then himself. Laying soft kisses at your shoulder, still firmly holding your hand to ground you.

“Well done, my love.”

You lazily smiled at him, dazed in euphoria as you rubbed your feet against his calves.

“What have I done for fortune.” He whispered against your temple.

You shrugged at him, leaning forward to kiss him once more. “I hope you are pleased with my performance?”

Daemon shook his head, begging mesmerized by you. He let his hand rest at your belly.

“If giving you all this love,” he kissed your cheek. “My dragonseed,” he pressed onto you belly. “Isn’t indication of how very pleased I am sweet girl.”

Then you heard a high pitched squeal from the skies, clicks and then the rustle of trees around you. “Then perhaps I should show you what being a dragon feels like.”

Caraxes burst through the horizon behind your circling the skies as he lowered himself onto the white beach. You looked at Daemon puzzled, as he pulled you up to dress you.

“What are you doing?” You huffed putting your blouse back on.

“You want to have my children, it might be time that you grew accustomed to Caraxes.”

You kept dressing yourself to mask the fear that was coursing through your veins. I dance for him and he plans to kill me. You could barely muster the courage to be even ten feet around Moondancer and that beast was a babe. Caraxes is a behemoth, he protects your husband— he told you how the two of them were two halves of whole. It never made sense to you.

“Don’t be scared, halves of a whole remember?” he said as he bent down to lift you up by you back and legs once you finished dressing.

You’d rid yourself of your ghungroos just to not startle the beast.

“I love you, care for you. Therefore he does too.”

You weren’t sure about how sure he was about said theory. Yet you let him carry you to the beaches below where Caraxes sat waiting, when you saw him it almost appeared as though he was playing with sand. Shaking his snout it the sand to bury it and then exhaling to have sand fly everywhere, followed by loud clicks.

“Is he— is he playing?” You asked your husband.

“Told you, he’s harmless.”

That beast also burned dozens of Dornish men but alright.

Just as Caraxes felt Daemon’s presence he chirped up even more, his long neck swaying in the wind. However it only took a moment for his demeanour to flip when he realized there was another. You froze in Daemon’s arms at the low grumble Caraxes let out.

“Dohaeras Caraxes!” Daemon lowly warned the beast.

Caraxes still look unsure but Daemon kept walking.

He put you down a few feet from the beast, don’t run— don’t run. You watched as Daemon walked towards Caraxes without a care in the world that his wife might get fried tonight.

“Konir sagon ñuha ābrazȳrys, ao gīmigon zirȳla syt izula hūra, keligon issare quba.” That is my wife, you have know about her for four moons. I told you.

Daemon sounded like he was scolding the dragon.

He turned to you “Come my love.”

You obeyed, talking small steps towards him. Towards his outstretched hand. Everything would be fine, you trusted him. Entirely— wholeheartedly, with your life.

Just until Caraxes turned his long neck and his snout just with a feet from you. You froze entirely once more, Daemon still petting Caraxes.

“Dohaeras,” he whispered, almost as if he spoke to a child.

Caraxes’s big nostrils flared, sniffing you a couple of time before chirping. Daemon chuckled, you relaxed for a moment until Caraxes gently used his snout to trip you backwards before once more burying his snout in the sand and deeply exhaling, burying you in a thick sheet of sand. Daemon couldn’t help but break into a fit of laughter

“Daemon!”

You were going to great friends he knew it.

eeee I had so much fun writing this. I totally imagine Caraxes kinda being like jealous Lilly from modern family lol

[nana-gumi]

unconditionally g. satoru

pairings: gojo satoru x fem! reader

cw: soulmates au, angst, deaths, historical events, spoilers on manga ig?, illness, blood, gore, fem! reader, typographical errors, listened to unconditionally by katy perry when writing this!

a/n: let's go, first post! thank you for helping me proofread @xuanzangg mwah

in every universe, you were soulmates. you were his and he was yours. what happens if one day you woke up, you weren't soulmates like how it was used to be 1000 years ago?

in every universe we'll live in, i will always choose you

" 'toru.." you weakly whispered as your lover held you tightly on his arms, a sword piercing through your chests as blood continues to seep out of your clothes.

"hold on to me." satoru stammered as he choked on his own blood.

"i can't breath no more." you said as you pant heavily.

a curse left his lips as satoru wiped the blood off of your mouth, gently caressing your cheek.

satoru groans as he looked up to the person who happened to thrust a single sword into your bodies, a person he never thought would betray him.

"i trusted you!" satoru yelled followed by a cough as he held you close to his chest.

"that's the weakness of the queen, too softhearted, too gullible." the betrayer said as he forced the sword out of you and satoru's chest. "may you rest in peace, queen and king." he said as he left the place with his people.

there were dead bodies of your comrades around, not a single person left breathing, they were all killed.

"s-satoru.." you mumbled as you cupped your lover's cheek with your bloodied hands. "if the gods gave us another chance to live, will you still choose me as your lover?" you said as satoru opened his closed eyes and looked at you.

"i will. in every universe we'll live in, i will always choose you." he said as he placed his forehead against yours. "i love you, my queen." he mumbled, his breathing getting slower and slower.

"i love you too, my king."

we'll meet again, my love.

if you died once, you couldn't possibly live again right?

you never believed in those words at first, but now, you're starting to believe them.

this man infront of you, the person who happened to always appear in your dreams, standing right infront of you.

"princess (name), it's an honor to finally meet you." he said as he bowed for respect as you did the same.

you were staring at him as he was.

"prince satoru, i think i've met you before." the said man laughed at your words as he held your hand on his, placing a kiss on your knuckles after winking at you.

"likewise, princess (name). it feels like i've known you my whole life but, it is the first time we met."

marrying the prince of the other kingdom wasn't a thing you expected, not when you're already a dying vegetable. you were born with a curse that when you reached the age of 25, it was the end.

at the age of 18, you married the only son of the gojo clan, a marriage where you thought your husband will be cruel and unloving like the books you read, but turns out, satoru loved you with all of his heart (just like in your past lives). he cherished you just like how you deserved it.

at the age of 24, satoru started neglecting you, or what you thought he did but it wasn't his intention though, he just doesn't want to see you disappear before him and you understand that. who would want to take care of someone who's death was already set.

but a week before your birthday, before everything ends, satoru came back to you.

"i'm turning 25 soon, prince." he was standing at the window near the bed, his sword on his hand as he kept quiet.

you sat on the bed as you caress the soft pillow in your fingers.

you heard the sound of his sword as you watch him make his way to the door.

you smiled sadly as clutched the pillow with your weakening grasp.

"satoru, will you be back?" you asked and he finally faced you.

satoru clicked his tongue, the only reason he disappeared was because he searched every land for a cure, something that would remove the curse that was casted upon you, yet not a single information was given to him.

satoru cursed under his breath as he dropped the sword on his hand, running towards you as he embraced you as tight as he could, hoping that his hold would make you stay forever.

you cupped his cheeks in your hands as you leaned your forehead to his.

"why are you crying?" you asked and it made him cry more.

"i'm scared." he said as you wiped his tears with your thumb.

"don't be, my love. i'm still here." you said as he shake his head.

"i was looking for a cure..i've searched everywhere but-" he let out a sob as he took a deep breath.

"really? i appreciate it." you said, giving him an assuring smile. "but we both know that the curse doesn't have cure." he knew that, he was just desperate.

the day of your birthday was finally coming.

it was almost midnight as you lay in bed with your lover.

"satoru, remember when you said that it's like you've known me your whole life?" you asked, looking up at him as you lay your head on his chest. "i think i get it now. it's because we're past lovers, satoru."

he chuckled in response as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "i know, from the moment i saw you, i already knew it was you, my queen."

you lay back on his chest as the surroundings went silent.

you felt his hands tightened around your form as the ticking of the clock can be heard.

"this is it, satoru."

"fuck.. i hate this." he mumbled as he clenched his fists. he couldn't do anything but to watch you die before him.

"satoru, in another universe, it's still me and you, right?"

"mhm, me and you. we'll meet again, my love."

you couldn't control your tears anymore as you kiss him for the last time.

"i love you so much, my prince." you said as satoru wiped your tears with his thumb.

"you'll always be my princess. i love you."

you and satoru went to sleep that night but the difference was he was the only one who woke up the next morning.

you are the strongest, right? my everything..

"sensei?!" yuuji exclaimed as he saw his teacher, gojo satoru walking with you, an enemy as if you and him were friends.

gojo finally approached his surprised students as he placed his arms on your head like you were something to lean on.

"this is our ally now." satoru said as you rolled your eyes at him. "right, my queen." satoru half-joked as his students were now more than surprise.

"you forced me." you joked as satoru leaned down to your height, placing a finger on your lips.

"shh, it was you who begged me to spare you."

"i did not-!"

"are we supposed to see this?" nobara said as megumi left the scene.

"welcome, ms. (name)!" yuuji exclaimed as you nod at him.

"you almost killed us before! i won't trust you for now." nobara said as she crossed her arms before following megumi who just left.

"well, kugisaki is right, but since it was gojo-sensei who introduced you, i guess i'll trust you." yuuji said, following his friends who just left.

satoru chuckled as he started walking ahead.

"gojo-"

"satoru." he said, cutting you off as he faced you.

"satoru.. it's still me and you, right?" you said as you smiled at him and another chuckle left his glossy lips.

"seems like we met again, my love. i've been waiting for you."

-

"satoru!" you forced the door open as you saw his friend, shoko doing her best to heal him.

"stay back!" his comrades said.

right, they still don't trust you. you were an enemy after all.

if satoru was standing beside you, he already protected you but he couldn't, not when he's laying on a bed, cut into half as his comrades gather around to see his situation.

seconds, minutes and an hour passed, there was no progress at all, shoko was losing her strength as she finally surrendered.

she shake her head left to right, indicating that she couldn't do anything at the situation anymore.

they left the room one by one until it was just you, him and shoko.

shoko covered his body with a white cloth as you noticed her clenched her fist.

you were standing by the door, processing the events in your head.

shoko walked past you, taking your hand as she placed something on it. a necklace, something satoru owned as she finally left.

you walked slowly to your lover as you removed the cloth that was covering his face.

your lips started to quiver as you caress his already cold cheeks

"satoru, you are the strongest right? come on, wake up now, my everything."

until we meet again, mr. gojo satoru

gojo satoru was the strongest in your past life but he died in a gruesome death.

the day he died, the day you were cursed with immortality. a curse where the person you love the most will forget you, and if the time comes that, that person remembers you, you'll disappear.

you stand before a large painting inside a museum where a king and a queen embracing each other, a sword piercing through their bodies as the king cries blood tears.

"mesmerizing, is it not?" a voice said and not just a voice, you recognized it very clearly.

a gasp left your mouth as you as stand face to face with your lover.

"satoru?.." you mumbled in disbelief, taking a one step and another as you embraced the man. "you're finally here! i've been waiting for you." you said as you look up at him.

"ah, i'm sorry but this is the first time we meet." he said and all of your hope disappeared as you took a step back.

"satoru?" another voice called him as he turned around, revealing the person. "there you are! we've been searching for you. this museum's quite big."

"i'm sorry, this painting caught my attention, oh by the way-" satoru looked back only to see no one. he looked around the place, searching for the lady he just spoke with but she was nowhere to be seen.

it was supposed to be you and him. satoru was your soulmate, not the woman you haven't seen in your whole life, they even had a son that almost looked like him.

in the end, you went back to your usual spot, where you and satoru first met when both of you were still a sorcerer.

you leaned your back against the old tree, hugging your knees close to your chest as you cry.

a broken heart was worst than death.

it was always you who dies first in your past lives. did satoru wait for you this long too? did he once watched you fell in love with someone that's not you?

you think not, because whenever you reunite with him, he'll be the first one to recognize you.

it's all because of that stupid witch and the curse she left to you.

-

how ironic that you always cross paths with the said man.

in the mall, the park, the grocery store and anywhere, you just don't show yourself to him. it'll only break your heart more watching him be happy with someone.

"wait!" he yelled as you tried your best to run away from him. he finally catch up to you as his hand burned your skin. "what the hell?" he said, feeling the same burning sensation.

he didn't even notice that you were already running away.

"just a moment please!" he called. you stopped in your tracks, letting him catch up to you as you faced him.

you wanted to hug him so bad, to kiss him and tell him how much you missed him. but you don't have the rights to do so.

"this is yours." he said, showing you a gold necklace.

you frantically searched the necklace in your pockets and there was none so you harshly took it from his hands.

"my name was engraved on it and another one. is that you? is (name) your name?" he asked as you nod. "you were that lady from the museum, right?"

"what museum?" satoru was about to say something but he was cut off when his phone started ringing.

"ah sorry, my family's looking for me." he said and he didn't know how much those simple words broke your heart.

you watched him walk back to the grocery store, leaving you alone with nothing but a shattered soul.

-

your name had slipped off his lips accidentally that led an argument between him and his wife.

he's been having a dream with someone but the face was a blur, he couldn't recognize the person.

"satoru." you mumbled as you cupped your lover's cheek with your bloodied hands. "if the gods gave us another chance to live, will you still choose me as your lover?" you said as satoru opened his closed eyes and looked at you.

"satoru, remember when you said that it's like you've known me your whole life?" you asked, looking up at him as you lay your head on his chest. "i think i get it now. it's because we're past lovers, satoru."

"satoru.. it's still me and you, right?" you said as you smiled at him and another chuckle left his glossy lips.

-

you were on your usual night walk when you're suddenly running out of breath. it was like something was blocking your airway, an invisible hand gripping on your neck as you fell on your knees.

were you finally dying? if so you were glad.

you lay your back on the grass below, your heart beating slower and slower as you gaze at the stars.

"this is gonna be my last life, satoru." you said as if he was around to hear your words.

"(name)!" you heard his familiar voice. you've been thinking of him too much to the point that you were hallucinating.

you felt your body being carried as satoru held you on his arms.

"why are you here?" you said, weakly pushing him away.

"i'm sorry, (name). i'm really sorry." he said, biting back a sob as he embraced you.

"what are you talking about." you said.

"i remember it now, fuck, i remember all of it now. i am so sorry. stay with me, okay? i'll take you to the hospital." he said as he carried you.

"there's no need, there's no cure." you said as he stopped on his tracks.

"cure?"

"this is yours." you said, ignoring him as he took the necklace in your hand.

satoru kneeled on the grass as he took the observed the necklace on his hand.

"ah, i want my satoru..please?" he heard you said and his heart ached at your dying sight. he's seen this many times now but why does it hurt more this time?

"i'm here." he whispered.

"you're not him." you know you were being petty. you shouldn't blame him from the curse that was casted upon you.

satoru was startled when you started crying.

"i'm sorry, 'toru." you said as he smiled at you, wiping your tears with his thumb.

"it's fine, i'm sorry i did not recognize you, my queen, my princess, my everything." he said.

"satoru, this will be the last time we'll see each other. be happy."

"last time?" he shake his head as he cupped your cheek. "no, we'll meet again, right?" he said as you softly laughed

"maybe we will, but you'll have to wait million years for that." you said.

"i don't care how long, i will wait for you."

"i'm grateful to have you as my soulmate, satoru."

"what's happening?" satoru said as your hand were slowly disappearing with the wind.

"the curse was lifted now, satoru." you said as you smiled at him.

"t-then that's good! we'll go home together, okay?"

"that would be impossible, plus you have a family now." you said chuckling bitterly as you sigh. "goodbye, until we meet again, mr.gojo satoru."

satoru could only watch as you disappeared with the winds, another universe where he lost you again and yet he wasn't sure if he'll see you again. maybe someday.

[targaryen-dynasty]

DEPRAVITIES.

Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x female!Reader

When your husband feels overwhelmed reining in the stead of the severely wounded King, it is your duty as his wife to comfort him.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; profanity, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant reader, p in v, cuckolding, degrading, humiliating, tiddy slapping hehe, blink and you'll miss the size kink, very brief breeding kink, female Reader, Prince Regent Aemond

WORDS: 1.8 K

NOTES: Re-posting something I really enjoyed writing before going on hiatus.

Credit for the center piece goes to @justkwordme on twitter.

When the Great Hall slowly cleared, it was your turn to approach your husband, still seated on the large Iron Throne and the Conqueror‘s Crown atop his silver-blonde mane. 

His shoulders and head dropped slightly with the heavy doors falling shut behind the last person leaving, clearly displaying all the pressure that rested on them. Your lips had dropped as well, into a pout that showed the pity you held for him. 

You approached him with slow, careful steps not to startle him as if you were a hunter stalking towards its prey, not making a sound to strike in an ambush.

And when your hand eventually brushed his shoulder, he released a long sigh. 

Without either of you saying anything, you positioned yourself onto his lap, straddling his thighs with your arms wrapped around his neck and the skirts of your dress rucked up around your hips.

Ever since you got pregnant, you hadn’t touched any of your normal dresses–the fabric either too heavy or too tight for your changing body. Lighter dresses with much less embroideries and other decorations filled your closets, a new one being fitted to your growing bump and breasts at least every fortnight. 

Much to your husband’s delight, since he was utterly infatuated seeing your body swell because of him–or much more his seed.

Aemond fully embraced your advances and the position, head tipping forwards to rest his forehead against your swollen bosom, enjoying the simple proximity and comfort you brought. 

Your marriage with him hadn’t always been like that, starting cold and with him showing no emotions other than the sense of duty for your arranged marriage. 

Only after you both had learned Aemond had put a child into you, something primal in him set itself free, making him protective of you… but also obsessed. 

Your pregnancy was nearing the seventh moon, and your breasts were swollen enough for your back to ache from the weight and for your feet to hurt with each step. It was rare you even left your marital chambers, mostly laying in bed with your feet positioned atop a few pillows. 

The dowager queen had told you it was normal for a woman carrying a Targaryen offspring to experience such terrible side-effects during their pregnancy, as both she and her daughter had shared the same fate many times before. 

You believed her–but only because you didn’t have another choice. 

Your breasts were hot and tender to the touch and already swollen to the point one easily overfilled Aemond’s large hands. And just like now, they always tended to strain against the low cut necklines of your dresses, the fabric cutting into the skin and making your flesh appear to spill over it. That had earned you the curious glances of more than one man of court, much to your husband’s dismay.

The swell of your belly put some distance between your bodies, and Aemond had his hands planted on either side of it–a habit he had picked up rather quickly with your unborn babe starting to kick just mere nights ago.

When he pressed his chiseled lips to the exposed and flushed skin over your breasts in a soft kiss, the familiar warmth spread throughout your body, settling at the apex between your legs. It was a subtle movement as you ground your hips down on his, but still enough for Aemond to groan against your body. 

A dark-blown pupil gazed up at you with his eye widened slightly, the lilac almost completely eclipsed by black, not having to say anything for you to know what he wanted. 

You gave him a reassuring nod, and in no time, he had pushed the neckline of your dress down enough to free not one, but both your breasts out of their confines. 

From the heavy sigh you released it was clear you felt relieved already, more so when his lips wrapped around one of your hardened buds. But the familiar stimulation of his fingers around the other one was missing–until you eventually felt his hand eagerly undoing the laces in the front of his breeches. 

It was difficult for him to do so with you sitting on top, so you slightly raised your hips, allowing him to pull out his hard and throbbing cock. 

You were surprised he went that far, especially because you were in the Throne Room with the possibility of someone barging into the room–but you also were excited. 

“Aemond,” you spoke softly. “We cannot.”

Though your words were a weak attempt to protest, there did not really come any objection from you as he fisted himself between your bodies, yours already craving what your mind still needed to process. 

He pulled back from you with a lewd pop, just a bit of your milk resting in the corners of his mouth. It was obscene, but in your eyes he had never looked so good. “We can,” he all but barked. “I will have the head of anyone that chooses to interrupt us right now–regardless of who it is.”

With that, he tugged the center of your smallclothes aside enough for his digits to tease your entrance, positively surprised you were already soaked for him and whining at the contact. 

“I did not know I have married a whore,” he teased shamelessly, bringing the fingers covered with your arousal up to smear it around the areola of your right breast. “Are you certain my brother did not fetch you from the Street of Silk or Flea Bottom even? Or is everyone in the Reach just as depraved as you are, sweet wife?”

The profanity of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and if there even was a sense of restraint still left in your body, it vanished with your hand entangling into his silver mane to tug his head towards your bosom, clearly wanting to silence him.

“Enough,” you scolded teasingly, biting the tip of your tongue to suppress a smirk from taking over your features. 

When you eventually sank down on his throbbing length in one swift movement, you shuddered, and Aemond and you both released a contented moan. 

His lips locked around the bud that was covered in your arousal, sucking it in the rhythm your core clenched around him. There was no need for you to move–no, you didn’t even want to–fully satisfied with the way his member was just buried inside of you. 

Your head tipped back in pleasure, and you tried your best to stifle your moans, only quiet whines and whimpers leaving your lips at the stimulation. 

As the pressure in your breast slowly subsided, you were finally able to feel him suckle, and when you looked down, you were blessed with a sight that was truly created by the Seven. 

Aemond’s chiseled lips were wrapped around your little bud, his eye half closed and his cheeks dimpled from the suction, amplified each time he swallowed the bits of your milk. 

His tongue flickered over your hardened bud, eliciting a soft moan from the depths of your chest. You were able to feel him throbbing inside of you at the sound, followed by a growl that vibrated through your whole body. 

You not-so-gently tugged on his hair again, seeming to spur him on even more, and whined a ‘you will have to do the other as well.’ 

As he pulled back once again, you couldn’t stop yourself from pouting, which was mended by the sight of him licking over your bud to gather the remnants of your milk–all while he kept his eye locked with yours. No matter how badly you wanted not to moan, you couldn’t stop the sound from spilling past your lips. It was certainly getting a reaction out of you. The possibility of being caught long forgotten.

“Stop being greedy,” Aemond panted, and you just bowed your head in submission and nodded. “You should be grateful.” As if it was not him asking for permission to suck your breasts in the first place. 

“Y-Yes,” you mumbled in feigned humility, choosing to play into his game.

“Yes, what?” Aemond asked, serving a slap to your sensitive breast that had you wincing. 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Better.” 

And with that, he locked his lips around your other bud, but not without groping your rear to pull you closer towards him and deeper onto his cock–at least as close as possible with your swollen belly between your bodies. 

You sat just right with the hem of his tunic rubbing against your pearl, every lap of his tongue and squeeze of his fingers around your other breast sending a bolt of pleasure straight down between your legs. 

But then your hips started to move on their own accord, grinding down on him, riding him while he sucked every last drop of milk from you. 

The aching of your back and breasts was long forgotten as you chased your pleasure. 

A couple of moments passed until you felt Aemond’s breathing growing labored, his chest almost heaving with more and more muffled grunts and groans escaping his throat. He was loud–much to your surprise–but your body seemed to keen at that, the knot in the pit of your belly tightening at a rapid pace.

And then, you toppled over the edge of your peak with a loud cry of his name. 

Your body crouched forward while both arms just wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him closer into your bosom, the coldness of the crown pushing against your collar bone a stark contrast to the heat soaring within your body. 

You were trembling astride him, whining when you felt how your peak’s contractions were practically forcing the spend out of your husband’s cock. 

Just like he was sucking you dry, you were milking him for every last drop of his spill, too. 

And as he spilled inside of you, he released your breast to curse your name and bury his face between your now soft and tender breasts. 

There was silence between you safe for your heavy breathing, before you leaned back enough to look down at Aemond. His lips were red and swollen, a soft flush covered his cheeks and neck, and the lilac of his eye was still completely drowned out by black. 

Your head bowed forwards to capture his lips in a kiss that was shy of gentleness, the remnants of your milk on his tongue and lips spreading over to yours. 

When he pulled back, a sly smirk was draped over his lips–a smirk that couldn’t mean any good. 

“Let us retreat to our chambers, wife. I am not yet full.”

Aemond was insatiable, you had learned that very early into your marriage. And that meant you were in for yet another sleepless night, preparing you for what was to come once the babe was born.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Such a Privilege - Leona

Author Notes: This fic just kind of flew together while I was killing time. There isn't actually much to say about it other than I am rather pleased with how snarky some of the dialogue turned out. As per usual, reader is gender neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fluff/ flirtation/ post Octavinelle chapter

Word Count: 1125

Leona had a bad habit. One that you’d initially discovered when you’d been staying with him in the Savannaclaw dorm while the Octatrio had held Ramshackle dorm for ransom. You had not, however, realized exactly how bad his habit was until more recently.

The issue was quite simple. Leona got cuddly when he was sleepy, and the problem only increased tenfold when he was actually asleep.

When you’d been staying in his room at Savannaclaw, it hadn’t really been that big of a deal. It had just meant that, after moving from the couch to his bed due to Grim’s bad habit of scratching things in his sleep and Leona’s declaration that his couch was not getting destroyed by your talking cat, you’d had to get used to waking up in the Housewarden’s embrace. 

Which wasn’t exactly an unpleasant thing considering this was Leona you were dealing with. After all, he was surprisingly good at giving some of the best hugs, and said hugs were usually impossible to receive.

The two of you’d had an unspoken agreement that neither of you would speak of the nightly cuddles during that entire time, and everything had been fine. Delightful, even.

But then, after everything had been resolved and you were back in Ramshackle, you’d taken to studying in the botanical garden near Leona’s napping spot.

You’d grown fond of the lion beastman in an odd sort of way during your stay with him, and you didn’t actually get to see him very often, so it had seemed like a good plan. You got to spend time with Leona and had a quiet place to study. What more could a Prefect want?

Truthfully speaking, you hadn’t even noticed when the young man had begun creeping your way. Growing steadily closer until it was too late.

Arms wrapped around your waist, steadily tightening as you realized, far too late, what was happening. Leona’s head pressed first against your hip and then, with a disgruntled snort, shifted until your lap had been claimed as his makeshift pillow.

You stared in surprise at the now relaxed young man, who seemed perfectly content now that you were officially his cushion.

But his content came at a steep price. You weren’t going to get any worthwhile studying done with Leona snoozing away on your lap, and you were most certainly trapped.

Waking Leona was no easy task, and the outcome probably wouldn’t be to your advantage, what with the importance of letting sleeping lions lie and all that. Ruggie could attest to that simple truth, and this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

In fact, this had been happening ever since you’d started studying in the botanical garden.

You briefly frowned at the prince, snoozing away on your lap, before sighing and resolving yourself to do the only thing you could do and amuse yourself with the source of your problem.

Besides, even if he complained, you could cite it as his nap tax.

Your hands slid into his soft, healthy-feeling hair easily, and your eyes widened as his head rolled back into your palm slightly. Almost like he was encouraging you to continue toying with the chocolatey strands that smoothly slid between your fingers. 

You smiled to yourself as he somehow relaxed further the longer you massaged his scalp until your gaze shifted, landing on his fluffy-looking ears, and you felt a grin creep across your face.

You hesitated only briefly before carefully reaching out and carefully rubbing your thumb over the back of his ear. 

They were velvety, and you felt your eyes go wide at exactly how pettable Leona, of all people, was. 

His ears twitched slightly at your touch, and you felt yourself freeze. Your gaze darting back to his face, only to find him continuing to snooze away. Peaceful and utterly unaware of your actions.

You smiled again, shrugging to yourself slightly as you went back toying with his hair. Amusing yourself even as you remain trapped as his pillow and idly considering how the young man would react if you were to undo his braids and redo his hairstyle.

 You only went still when Leona shifted. Rolling over to look up at you with far too much amusement shining in his bright green eyes for you to feel totally comfortable.

You stared down at him in silence and he only seemed to grow more amused the longer the silence between the two of you stretched. To be honest, though, you felt like a child who’d been caught with their hand in a cookie jar, while he looked like you’d fallen for some sort of carefully laid trap. 

That feeling of having been caught was only made worse when he finally spoke, words slipping from his mouth in an all-too-smug tone, “Nothing to say?”

You twitched as he broke the silence before frowning and slowly retracting your hands, “You’re the one who suddenly decided to use me as a pillow. What was I supposed to do?”

He yawned, showing no signs of moving, “I thought you were studying?”

Amusement continued to flicker in the emerald depths of his eyes as you stared at him incredulously. Hardly able to believe what you were hearing, “With you snoozing away on my lap? Like I would get anything done that way.”

He smirked almost immediately at your words, and you tensed as he began to speak, bracing for whatever it was that he was about to say, “So I’m too distracting for you?”

You looked away, not wanting to agree as you rolled your eyes. “Oh, yes. Completely,” Sarcasm dripped from your tone, but Leona hardly seemed phased.

He did, however, at long last sit up. Snorting to himself before twisting so that he could continue to face you, “Well, did you at least enjoy yourself, Herbivore? Not too many get to do that.”

The implication was clear: he’d let you toy with his hair, and pet his ears even though most would never be allowed to do such a thing.

But despite that, as your gaze slid back towards him, a grin was already creeping across your face, “Be his Royal Majesty’s pillow, you mean? I didn’t realize it was such a privilege.”

He merely continued to grin at your deliberate misinterpretation of your words as you continued. Tilting your head in amusement as you finished, “I doubt that’ll be the last time that happens anyway.”

He shifted only slightly, angling his body so that he dipped into your personal space as he lifted his chin with a smirk, “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

You snorted slightly, your eyebrows lifting in amusement, before you gave the slightest of nods, “I guess so.”